He doesn’t know how to explain…
his parents were sitting in the next room
they wouldn’t understand how his mind works
his words ended in dead graves, silent and decaying
he paced, where would he start?
The sadness, the silence
the guilt, the hopelessness
when emotions built and the tears fade
the human heart stops and so does the brain
he scribbles on a paper, a script to build from:
“Love is love”
“I love him, mom”
he opens their door, the script in hand
he says, regretting his words. Wishing he was dead air as he once felt.
His father looks up at his son; he sees a man, a human.
His mother looks up and sees a cockroach, an alien.