  Proto By the way, there seems to be something wrong with this poem. I am not really sure what. Somebody tell me. He splashed a rusty glow Tried to paint on his face And smeared the make-up into his eyes So no one could look inside A dilated pupil (And it’s not even bright) Ripped out his own vocal cords Not wanting to hear the ugly croak Of his own voice And he tried to hide behind his textbooks Everyone knows A dilated pupil means fear.
But one plunge into the dirt reminded him That the law of gravity is made To be broken. They –who found him Shivering in the cold abyss Of self-deprecation – Played his voice back to him To help him To make him Remember how to laugh And it was her who held open his eyelids Melted the false skin Let the pure blue light that fell in Tiny glittering teardrops Drown out the gray. Cheers. 
