Perilous Boy

I once knew a boy that lived in perilous disguise. The knowledge has only been released to me through the subtle swing of moments and ages, and I can hardly own to see all. He hid himself well enough, tempting even the sorest of hearts to resent his exceedingly self-absorbed cast. Though a competitive actor, his efforts were not alive, and it was in those rare moments of twisted expression that I observed the perilous boy. I never spoke to him once, but I knew him well. We were the same in that way...both living outside of ourselves. In the mornings he'd don his varsity jacket, trying to clear the night’s weeping out of his tired mind. He'd have a dark, swelling bruise on his left jaw, and beneath that guise his skinny ribs would scream in pain. He's hungry to leave or die. It doesn't matter which. Rumors always seeped quickly through the shallow sponge of our sorry town. His mother had gone to find herself. Is it true, boy? Was she running? No one would have guessed that it was bad though. In times like that he was careful. He would walk into school and laugh about that kid he beat up. They wouldn't notice that his fists were clean and his eyes were tight. Oh perilous boy, I wanted to tell you to stop acting, but we both know why I couldn't do that. I was the winning girl with a 4.0 and a knife in my back. I was acting too.