My poem’s true after all...

Out of sight, out of mind
He writes beautifully in just a glide
A friend soon to be forgotten but still makes time
What a sad thought to see him in this line.

Messy head, messy bed
When will he move on from this thread?
He deeply thinks but uses his own strength
Until when will he measure and carry the length?

A genuine smile, an exultant glee
But the sadness from his eyes is what I see
A scared child who lives behind words mixed up
A terrified man distressed behind words built up