Light shady hair

That lays softly and carressing his lonely thoughts

Habits that glorfies the flaws in his stormy eyes

He's my hero in disguise

Although he is stunning to us

he keeps running

Always afraid

Always terrified like the shakes in his bones

They make the struture of his suttle frame

They make the structure of his weary brain

Scars to hide that raise upon ice cold December skin

He may not know the true answers

But he knows his wrongs better than the world

Raised skin to feel against his own finger tips

There's still pigments of color left on his shell

But deep down in his veins

It's dark and shallow

He's lost his way

-R.K.