in hell he heaves his final breath,
yet untouched by the hand of death.

flies feed fearlessly on his rotting flesh-
no hand to disturb their festive feast.

undecided, uninvited, unfulfilled… but full of contusions.
body bent, broken, and covered with burning confusion.

dreaming during day, at night he seldom rests.
in races he is last and also the least.

walking wonders welcome woe-
infallible and impeccable- past him they go.

his heart hops, skips, and flips,
but for some reason, still it beats.

when he looks in the mirror, what does he see?
he sees imperfection… he sees inadequacy.

livid, lonely, longing to kiss her lips,
solo, he sails in the salty sea of sheets.

books baffle brains, from him escapes brilliance.
fighting his fate, unarmed, outnumbered, but still resilient.