He was as sad as a flower without color--
Terribly drained, couldn’t be saved without another.
Inside, he felt as if he was dying.
On the outside, he was crying.
But even the tears of a pale boy couldn’t strain the feelings I had for him.
And although his hair needed a trim,
With eyes as dark as the bottom of the sea,
He was still beautiful to me.
His weary talk, his slow walk,
The way he would never mock
a person so different.
Oh, his heart was so vibrant.
You see, his soul was brighter than light.
But in his head, he emerged a fight
with himself.
Indulged with thoughts of guilt.
But he didn’t deserve that hell.
And of course, only I knew that well.
He didn’t think he was worth it.
But to me, he was perfect.