Henry? Oh yes, the kid who lived back in room 432. He was truly a tale untold, the boy of lost memories. Showed up at the hospital at the ripe age of twelve. If I’m correct he was going on fourteen. I had always felt bad for the lad, for I was his personal nurse. Everyday I went in to clean his sheets only to be greeted by his whitewashed walls and an always surprising smile. In such a dismal state, he having cancer and all, I wouldn’t expect such a pleasant grin outta the poor doll, yet there he was. I couldn’t imagine where he came from before dragging himself out to Royal Acre, for he never made lick of sense, but I just couldn’t help but give the lad my heart. I once walked into his room to see his mouth jibbering away to the wall. I sat there and watched him for awhile until he saw me and hushed his voice to an unadible whisper. After that he began trying to tell me stories, about what, I was never quite sure. It soon became the highlight of my day, going to work became less and less of a chore thanks to this blissful little boy. God bless him, in life he’d gotten the bitter end of the straw, abandoned, sick, and still he wore that joyful smile, sharing it with the world. That was five years ago. I guess one day he was fed up because when I walked in to his little room I came across his lifeless bed, the plug hooked up to his life support pulled. On his face was a smile though, brighter than normal, and fresh tears still streamed down his porcelain-like face. In disbelieve tears began to melt down my face too, so attatched I’d become to this puppy of a boy. Until that instant I never understood why he so cherished smiling, and then it hit me. In a world without happiness he was forced to make his own. Thinking about it made my quivering lips slowly form into a quaint smile, a smile I wanted to share with him one last time. What a kid, Henry, the boy of lost memories, no, Henry, the boy of everlasting smiles...

Song: Deathbed, Powful

I watched as he pulled his pants back on. The pale daylight bathed his frail frame. This was how I woke up every morning, to my ex pulling his clothes back on and storming out of my house with his latest conquest. It was destine to never work, and I know it, but I still can't fully kick him out of my life. The lines of my angry frustrated scratches slid down his back like bright violet streamers. He lit a cigarette and turned to me. That vacant stare and those beautiful periwinkle eyes were looking down at me looking up at him. He shook his head, as if he was disappointed with the fact that he woke up to me again, grabbed his iPhone, and stormed out again.