He knows what it's like to be left
His body was discharged like toxic into the rivers of ozone,
scarred deeply so it no longer can be traced back,
nameless and soulbare he fell and fell and kept falling even now,
even after it was all in the past
He would never forget what it's like to be burnt by the sun and abandoned by his father
He curses at the pearly gaits whenever he thinks no one notices his shame
People feel holy when he walks nearby
and it's all in the posture,
in the way he bares his sins,
vaguely,
neglectful,
like he's a moment away from carving them out of his skin
and throwing it on someone else's
People cheer for his struggles in so many different manners;
plays are being written and songs are being sung,
all on his behalf
It's so easy to be admired in this way but it's so hard to live it
and it's so easy to see beauty in misery and fail to notice the well-being of a carrier
He knows he's here for a reason
His strong wings have the colour of golden crowns and coins,
sometimes they sound just like it,
harsh and violent
He used to feel blessed and now he's powerful with pride ,
even if he can't get rid of flashbacks
Leaving was always a burden, a fresh wound
but nowadays it was impossible to return,
leaving reminds him of home and I am just a tool that is used to replace it,
poorly
His untainted blood has changed over the curse of time,
it has gained this urgency of fleeing,
not just from the ground but from the sensitivity,
sympathy,
from delicate imperfections
His blood demands embers,
demands vacancy of mortality, of men's flaws,
whatever that makes him distant and worthfull of praising
because he thinks it's the only thing that's left and the only thing he was taught to depend on
It's so easy for him to ignore the symptoms but every now and then
he would stop with fidgeting
lie still,
never once ask for time,
touch the linen of the bed,
hum
and lean closer
●●●
//August 2018//
