Will he be the same?
He is twelve.
He stays silent in the next room.
His heartbeat is faint,
The light under the door is dim.
Will he be the same?
He is fourteen.
He slams the door
Knocking his pictures off the walls.
His voice rings in my ears.
Will he be the same?
He is sixteen.
The hole in the wall says no.
The adults tell me not to hope for it.
He is too far gone.
Will he be the same?
He is twenty.
His eyes gloss over,
His head rolls back
He tells me he loves a feeling more than me.
Will he be the same?
He is twenty-one.
Red like the burn of a shot
Blue like the chaser to sooth it
When they flash outside your house it isn't so soothing.
Will he be the same?
Never. He’s gone at twenty-two.