Stationary

My outercase sits on a dusted wood in the corner. I'm misplaced and out of my own order. Others surround me with their own stories but none like my own. I watch the feet at night walk past my permanent spot, you won't touch me without accidently remebering the night I was placed inside of your screen. You fumble with digits
and ignore the words that come from my mouth. You ignore the electricity thats bolted through sattelittes to deliver my message to you. I'm almost forbidden to write about the monster in you after seeing how much love you're capable of having. The carpet against your feet lets out a dragging noise and the back door creaks open.
I've led myself to believe that my soul containing the ability to harness my emotions onto a paper is whats walking inside. The Invisible really is the subject I am tonight. The bitter cold outside and the carbon dioxide in my lungs can't compare. The afterword was my story, my own interpertations of the events that had occured that night. I saw the girl with hopeful eyes watch me while you chuckled out of the emptiness that had filled your mind. I witnessed the hopeful eyes turn into loving eyes and the silence turn into whispers. You took her warmth, her security, her talent. In the end I'm just a movie to watch, the story never changes. In the end, the beautiful boy isn't so beautiful anymore and the hopeful eyes have turned into confused ones.