Shuddering at all that’s presented
He hides from everyone
That basement room becomes his heaven
Because he’s never dreamed of better
All he knows are the milldewed walls
And the roaches that become his friends
He’ll never know a warm meal
Or a dry place to rest his head
For fourteen years he’s been alone
But he’s held there by his aching soul
He’s so afraid of hidden pain
He can’t help but feel lucky to be alive
He’ll watch the tiny rivers
That creep across his damp home
Entertaining himself for hours
With broken toys that he’s found
He doesn’t know of anything better
So he’s content with what he has
The rags he has to cover his scarred skin
And the old towels he has as blankets
At night sometimes he’ll venture out
And see families warm and snug
He’ll wonder why he’s all alone
But then remembers he always was.