The Man

The man. Huddled in the corner. The darkness surrounding him. Trapping him in his own hate. Bathing him in his own blood. His arm across his face, showing the shame and the pain. He lies. He has no smile upon his face. His eyes decieve him. This is the man I call God. This is the man. This is the man that my life is based upon. His flesh. Ever so pale. His secret yearning for something…anything…anything that will stay in his life and not leave. The man presses his skull harder against the pitch-black wall. He wants to feel his brains burst into open flames. He grips his skin even tighter. His skin becomes so white, ever so pale. A lightbulb hangs over head in the dark, desolate, dreary place he lives in and calls “home”. It’s off. It’s burnt out. He makes no attempts to fix it. He’s lost from this world. This man. This man that is such a delicate boy.