Boy In The Attic

[Cas Greenfield]

The Boy in the Attic – by Casimir Greenfield

The world was at his fingertips
The words were on his tongue
The blood was on his hands
The boys were on the run
The sound of pain was on his mind
The rain was on the roof
The tissued lies inside his head
Were inches from the truth…

But the boy in the attic told his darkest tales
Of sutured skin and bloody trails
While the Dick in the diner joshed the frails
He turned the page
And staked the mail
The boy in the attic, the fly on the wall
Had a twist in his tale
That fooled us all…
The ink poured from the quills and nibs
And ran against the grain
The line between the truth and fibs
We’re driving him insane
The tattooed pages writhed with life
The shadows hid the light
The needle points that pierced the skin
Were shimmers in the night
But the boy in the attic told his darkest tales
Of sutured skin and bloody trails
While the Dick in the diner joshed the frails
He turned the page
And staked the mail
The boy in the attic, the fly on the wall
Had a twist in his tale
That fooled us all…

The dirty deeds upon the page were twisted from within
The secrets passed from hand to eye were tantamount to sin
The body count was growing, the alibis were thin
The wired chair was humming and the padre stank of gin

[[CA]]

Reading this felt like reading an exerpt from a larger story. I wanted to lay my hands on the book that held the whole story and dive into the macabre deeper. It left me wanting more. It left me questioning. I also got the sensation that death was creeping closer to the figure in the attic but that it was almost welcomed.