The room was stale, sterile white.
Faces of pill-numb ghosts
Played like people, whispering and flirting and staring at those walls
Amongst these shades of long-lost souls was a boy,
A burning darkness in the bright, bright white of that room
with black hair like the ocean at midnight, which I’d recall
at sunrise on a stranger shore months later.
He was walking heavens,
Clusters of stars in his skin and teeth, in his gestures, his lips.
We waved at each other,
Shared secrets and fears with our
That cafeteria was for the sick and sad,
but for a bit it was my only hospice.
**written nearly 10 years ago for a boy**