Eddie
A boy climbs a tree.
He sits in the corner of the treehouse,
staring at his old hide-away
as a black cat vaults up the branches.
Gone are the old toys and comic books,
stored in water-proof places for his own children.
Now the floor is strewn with guitar picks
spilled from the acoustic case nearby.
Books of classical tunes-
the great composers all translated into guitar licks-
share space with the picks
and the instrument itself.
The body was painted with skulls,
made into flowers,
then made into blobs acceptable for a man-child,
though he'd rather have the roses back.
He relishes the smell of the pines nearby,
the heavy scent of sap covering that of wire strings,
and waits for the midnight kitten
to settle in his lap before stroking it's downy fur.
Notes: The second or third version of this one done for (take a guess) twelfth grade Writing. It's called "Eddie" because I have an old character named Eddie whom I was thinking of for this one. Actually, I have a lot of old characters named Eddie who are all the same Eddie. It's kinda confusing. When I started switching around my stories, Eddie switched with them.