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Poetry from the Teenage NERD.
Part 7

Everyday,
an empty hallway,
waits for me,
alone.


I walk along,
beside him.
Parallel,
yet not entirely.
I know very little,
of his purposes,
but for now
we travel
the same small path.

He sits alone,
playing a game,
partenered with himself.
How could it be,
that a bubble like his,
could be burst,
and lost,
in solitude?
Pity is not the word,
more so is curiosity.

Drop that
off the Eifel Tower.
Falling into an oblivion,
until everything ends,
in a consious, disasterous, melee.