Doesn't talk much, enters unnoticed by me

like a vapor drifting through the assembly

watching others, let down he is removed

from the masses, knowing not what else to do


he reaches out to her like wind when summer calls

don't change the temperature you might not feel it at all


he writes music and notes roll off of his tongue

like water, thick compared to the blood

of an artist afraid to look at himself,

in the mirror to see if anything is left

and she wants to feel his heartbeat again

but it's hopeless, a ghost, no longer a man


(the whispering you can figure out for fun)