FreeWrights Peer Review™

lonely boy here,
watching little droplets
of piss drip
down into the bowl.

the head bobbing up and down,
crawling in-out of foreskin
cocoon.

there is the rhythm of the
piss-splash, the droplets
sliding down the bowl,
the pungent, comforting
smell of urine.

disembodied penis, it crawls
back into his pants. he feels
safer now;
from the small eyes
of the daddy-longlegs
lurking in the corner,
from the butcher arranging
sausage for the coming slaughter.

From the eyes of this world less exposed,
he feels lonely though,
and inside he is this boy

forever.