Lord Of The Flies Poem by Daniel Y.

All friends leave.
Their reasons unbeknownst to me.
Perhaps they are attracted to the fly zapper.
Doors open for some.
So outside we die in the cold,
jealous of our cousin.
But they inside die alone,
jealous of the cold.

Perhaps they were embarrassed
of the hydra-cowlick on my head
(which calls me absent minded) .
I am coolness teflon.
And so my happiness in spite of loneliness
keeps me one.
Singular.
Perhaps I was the blue bird
they bought to sing of sorrow
but I sang cheerful of the rain.
So my friends buy a new bird
and I am returned to that familiar store
where I sing to all the animals
my friends.

I don’t know what they won’t they won’t tell me.
But perhaps they lack the words
to describe what they lack.