A child alone without friend

He's a quiet boy, says no words

But tells stories with his eyes

His eyes that are wet

With the tears of fallen angels.

He sits in the corner of his own mind

Not really wanting to leave

But begging for liberty from himself.

Walking through every day

With a hollow soul

Empty head

Black heart

He never even looks up

When he hears the whispers about him

From the ones who can't understand.

His lip is busted,

Nose is bleeding 

And there's dirt smudged

On his face

His clothes

His hair

And hands.

His sleeve used

To wipe it off

To hide it from the rest.

This child with angel eyes

Sits in his room

Weeping

Not saying a word

Or making sound

He doesn't question why

Or curse a God or Goddess

(Neither of which he believes in)

But rather accepts

That this is his fate

Which is why

He always faces the ones who hit him

Instead of running

Or screaming

Or crying for help.

He lets them break him

Lets them bruise him

Lets them disfigure his body

At least he knows

He can still feel

And he's breathing.

He knows his heart

Is still sadly beating

When the crimson nectar

Of his sweet, frail body

Flows out onto the ground

Down his face

Through the scrapes on his knees

And hands.

He knows how to live

A life without love

Where he's covered

In his own blood.