Inside my rib cage lies a grave marked with 6 names and on the ground surrounding it are the remnants of a boy lost in memories and dreams,starved of life, breath fading; lost beneath what could have been

This boy, that I the old man am, are one in the same: He often does not sleep as he lies beneath the quilt of unasked questions; trembling out of fear for what was never fulfilled

Once, he believed the world was a vast playground,but the swings fell, ,the seesaw tipped, the merry go round stopped, and they all dissappeard: Today only the heart persists not from hope, but just because it has not been stopped yet

What did he become when his dreams died?

He lives without aspiration, each day, each hour is only a caged hamster running on the wheel inside the cage, moving, never growing, never living, only existing

Is this the essence of growing up?

to bury the child within,to let him rest without peace in the dark,while the heart beats bittersweet and cries out from loneliness and emptiness with no one beside him