the threads in her head

(this is probably the closest to sight than any of my other pieces. there is nothing pretty or redeeming about it - none in images, none in language. cruel, ugly, depression... dejection. you have been warned)

Dejection-

There was a boy who was crying.
Little small child red in the face
Squealing and squalling at the top of his lungs,
Loud sharp shrills that punctuated the air,
Vengeful. Unrelenting. Seeking, seeking, seeeeeeeeking.
Little fist snaking up,
Tight fist round mother's shirt
Grabbing for mother's harassed breast
Sweat, sweat down mother's brow,
Furrowed brow and knitted eyes,
Creases upon creases of skin
Over and over again

There was a boy I could not fathom
Sitting right beside me.
Right wrist in pain and heart perhaps breaking,
Shield over his heart, crying -
Was he crying? I don't know, I never know,
I am a simple ignorant creature besides this chaos of being
Who spins his immature web of thoughts,
and captures,
without realising
Who is stupid and idiotic, and maybe should be shot,
Except that his misguided nobility is heartbreaking,
Heartbreakingly beautiful

There was a boy who was beyond,
Beyond my contact,
What with a dead phone and
His new number
Which I could not remember
Sitting beside a boy lost,
Cries that hurt my heart,
And yellowed fuzzy images of
Depression,
Dejection,
Perversity of life
In general