Decadent in Blue

I am a boy,
A pretty broken boy,
who likes to pretend people see un-city skies
and late-night wisdom
Behind his almost-owl eyes.
A charcoal-lashes boy who winds his watch
When no strangers are watching,
Who only feels at home when he has bare feet.
A boy, who would run away if there was somewhere to run to,
But has no choice but to be a doll in a chair,
Decadent in blue.