He

He walks 
with eyes on the ground
Counting every crack in the pavement, 
He avoids all eyes 
He wears a coat two times his size
Lined with whispers that itch at the skin
And everywhere he go,
He trails a shadow behind 
He dines alone 
Picking on food he cannot taste
He sighs and pulls on his faded hair 
By night, he sits at the desk 
Hands pressed to his face, 
Replaying a scene over and over 
Like a broken film reel
But when the stars come,
He only turns off the light
Pulling the blanket up to his chin
he whispers,
Maybe tomorrow