Here he sits

Here he sits with nothing left to know

Nothing left to hold on to

But holding fast he steps on through

Tomorrow is yet to show

Him as he truly is and is to be,

Who he might someday recover

From underneath the wreckage of another

Lonely slumber party. 

If I gave him the chance to make a name

For someone other than himself,

Would he find it a worthy game?

Or just place it on the top shelf,

With all the other long forgotten memories?

All the other treasures he long ago ceased to believe?

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