His father dragged him through his hair and ripped his face off of his skull, then showed it to the crowd. "This is no human! It deceives us with this facade to attain what he desires. This creature must die," he declared, and the crowd became thirsty for blood.
He had neglected him even before he was born. He was a stranger to their home. He tried countless times to call him his father, but it came for naught. Now, he is a monster to those who have gathered here. He could no longer bare it, so he stole a torch and burned himself alive.
YOU ARE READING
Burning Home
Poetry[ a poetry collection about grieving and becoming. ] I wish for the day when flowers no longer sink in water. When their eyes gaze not ignominy but proud; even dust can be seen as gold. And exhaustion feels rewarding.
