THE BOY'S JOURNAL...

His apartment felt much colder, lonely, dead

Why? Because his love moved out last week

The boy still couldn’t accept the fact that they were gone into his head

Since then, the boy has become weak

The move affected him more than he ever thought

 A lot can happen in the length of seven days

He wrote everything down in a little brown journal he bought

Filling the blank white pages with the events of his past days craze

On Monday, the boy heard their song play on his IPod

The beautiful sound of the guitar and piano harmonizing filled his ears

But this time listening, it was strange, and really odd

Because his love wasn’t with him too listen to it, one of the things he always feared

On Tuesday, the boy returned to the place he first met them

An arena, a concert to The Script that they both came to see

He remembered glancing at the person like a beautiful sparkling gem

Smiling wider when they turned and smiled at he

On Wednesday, the boy got a tattoo of an ‘L’ on his arm

Because the letter ‘L’ was the start of his loves first name

The boy thought one more tattoo wouldn’t do him any harm

The tattoo would stay on his arm day by day and remain the same

On Thursday, the boy found a photo frame with a picture of his love, glass shattered

Once again those beautiful blue eyes shone brightly

The boy felt wet tears race down his cheeks, from his eyes they scattered

Brushing his fingers over the photograph, tracing his love’s face lightly

On Friday, the boy found the bottle of liquor in the fridge at the back

Every sip he took from the cold glass made him feel dizzy

He fell on his bed with a thud when his strength became slack

Drinking the throat burning liquid is what kept his day busy

On Saturday, the boy noticed how much his love caused him to change

He felt like he couldn’t focus without his love by his side

The pain his love caused him seemed to feel less strange

But he still wished he came out to his love instead of staying in the dark to hide

But on Sunday, the boy didn’t open his ink littered journal to write

No, he wrote on a different kind of paper

A soft skin surface and a new ink colour of scarlet red seeped through the page bright

With each cut he said, maybe up there I’m safer…