Fresh Hell

 

I met a boy who’d been in a car accident

Part of his face was missing

He had one good eye.

This eye was pure warm brown

Startling perfection

Set in a warped visage.

He worked with animals.

He remembered me when I came into the shop.

A sweet kid.

Knocked around by life

His damage exposed to any cruel scrutiny.

But if he didn’t have those scars

I never would have remembered

That perfect, bottomless shade of chestnut

All his clear bright youth

Welling from within.

Whereas others diffuse their energy

Softly illuminating their many beauties

His beauty was focused, a point of hard light

Shining against a grim backdrop of battered sadness

In stunning contrast.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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