In a misguided attempt to fly without wings he fell to his doom.
Living his life based on the opinion of his peers. He made no room for himself inside his soul. Shoving and constricting. Twisting and bending to fit into the iron box that was constructed by people who didn’t even know his last name. In the day time he played video games and read research about evolution while listening to Herbie Hancock.
At night he roamed the streets while kicking over trashcans filled with his parent’s expectations. Wondering in his mind if they too, were misguided. Howling at the moon like a crazed wolf. Waking up in places unfamiliar. Next to warm bodies that held onto him like he was the last breath that they would ever need. Holding him down like vines over abandoned concrete. His soul waiting on the street sweeper to cleanse the debris.
He laid there; In a catatonic state, wondering.
“Why doesn’t anyone rescue me?”
He is use to being the one that people retreat to.
When the front line is being bombarded by arrows. When the spears strike from a distance that doesn’t allow retaliation.
He stands with his arms extended toward the chaos-
not expecting for anyone to save him.