• The Organic Poet

Bleeding Soul @halo_scot

A boy.

A lonely boy.

Shaggy hair, crooked glasses, a gaze across galaxies.

A superpower: he’s invisible.

No one sees his shadow.

His only ear is the wind, his only friend the notebook.

The clock winds his routine: sleep, school, read, repeat.

Darkness whispers blood.

“There are doors,” it says, “escapes to peace.”

The boy listens, but stays.

Then days turn gray.

Hours become fires.

Minutes carve limits.

Seconds beckon reckoning.

Every moment awake lacerates his soul.

Every moment asleep mutilates his mind.

Till darkness whispers louder.

“There is peace, if you are strong enough to take it. There is a door, if you are brave enough to jump through.”

The boy searches for reasons.

Sifts for purpose.

But sees only knives, guns, pills, ends.

“Take it all away,” he begs the night.

The night answers with rain, but washes nothing away.

Another morning.

Another school day.

Another silence.

Another storm.

Now, the boy thinks. It must be now.

The door.

The escape.

The peace.

The end.

He rises lighter, his soul a shell.

Already gone, he leaves at the bell.

Someone, stop him.

Someone, save him.

But he walks too fast and thinks too deep.

Ghosts follow in eternal sleep.

“Hey, you okay?”

One voice. Three words.

A light, a life, a question, a knife.

“You see me?” asks the boy.

The stranger nods.

He sees the boy’s shadow.

The boy sees a god.

“Stay,” says the stranger.

The boy shakes his head.

“I’ve a door to find. I’m called by the—”

“What are you writing?” the stranger interrupts.

The boy tilts, off guard, darkness faded to dusk.

“A poem,” says the boy.

“About what?” asks the stranger.

“Melody, harmony, and invisible things.”

“Nothing’s invisible,” the stranger says, “only hidden.”

Dusk lifts to noon, the day rewound.

“Let me walk you home, then read it to me,” the stranger insists.

The boy pauses. This is a reason, a purpose, a beginning to erase the end.

“Okay,” says the boy.

The lonely boy.

The boy with words.

The boy with weapons.

The boy who looks at this stranger savior and says, “I’ll stay.”

Poet's biography

Name: Halo Scot

Place of residence: United States

Your favourite quote: “Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.” ―Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five Your one wish for the world: Acceptance and encouragement of every type of soul. Where can we find out more about you (Website link):

https://haloscot.com/ A small bio about you:

Halo Scot is the author of the Rift Cycle—a grimdark, science-fantasy series with psychological horror, mental illness, and LGBTQ+ themes—and a founding member of QueerIndie.com.

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