paper soldier

made of paper 

folded by an illusion 

paper boy breathed but was not alive

mended with confusion

with insomnia until five

 

not sure why or how he got there

nor when or where he'd gone

but paper boy marched

he was proud of what he'd done

with paper girl while she arched

 

given her heart

he tore it plainly

caring not of the pain she received 

specifically or mainly

he changed for all who perceived

 

paper boy;

folded loosely

never cautious

he wishes he'd been watched closely

but these thoughts only made him nauseous

 

he was fighting a war

endless

never to be won

but he was fearless

for he gave himself the gun

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741