All carrying a sense of dread

The bed under the boy was as old as him

20 years since he woke up in that house

Alone and naked on the floor

Days were made for drawing and using

Painting and crying

Learning and laughing

Different ways to feel the highs and numb the lows

Any dealer would look at the pieces

Strewn across the shagged carpet floors

And see nothing but beauty

For the boy

All he could see was the pain that created the peaces

And that is the difference 

Between the artist and the observer

The faces on the walls were mixed

Some were screaming, others crying, others laughing, others blank

And only he knew

They were all his own