a boy averts his gaze

every morning and every night

a fog curtains his face

every waking second and every sleepless dream

doesn’t know who he is

doesn’t know who’s staring back

as cataracts skew, tinting rainbows

into shades of deep to dead lead,

and shawls the noose inching closer

to the jugular pumping ash

to leave the house is a task

too hot for a hoodie

so when he needs to, he wears a cap

a helmet for the eyes chambered in 7.62′s

and hides his from God’s scope glint up above

doesn’t know who he is

doesn’t know who’s walking O’s

as mildew grows and encrusts his blast room

into an echo-chamber cornered by ma’s CCTVs,

hotboxed in smoke off of his strucked match-head

CO monitor beeps the beat of his heart

but his thoughts deafen

and so this monotone song is sung from a swan’s beak,

a lone send-off to the wolf’s den