Desire

He was found dark, something not quite the same. Once condemned to happiness, he now endures the sting of the needle that impairs this once beating heart. Should one find it strange that this stinging pain brings more life to a boy than the warmth of happiness? The medicated smiles glaring down at him provide the ammunition to elude this falseness. He once believed in love, and now the mundane repetition of unrequited love rings in his ears, and the tone is deafening. Where do the memories go that we no longer choose to remember? These tears his cries have come to late for all the lies they told him. The hurt, the blame.

He waits impatiently for the earth to shift so the seasons may change. The bright white truth of winter burns his eyes, and senses run numb in the bitter cold. He would rather have died than to see the hate in their eyes and know that he was the source of it. Wind blows his hair in his eyes, and for the first time he does no see the face of a God, so unfairly lit by the flames of desire.