Gehenna

When he can no longer see light of day, no longer

feel the cruel cold of a world that refuses to take him as its own

He hopes for a place in hell where the fire is forgiving

He hopes for a place where the fire burns gently—alights the darkness only slightly,

specially for those who did not— could not, save themselves

The hellfire is warm. It feels like an embrace, an embrace he never could receive

The embrace is tight—tight around his waist

The embrace is not awkward nor forced, but tight enough for him to feel as if the fire is his only friend. Perhaps even a lover.

The fire would remind him of the soul he once was, long

before the beginning of the suffering he endured for too long. Far too long.

The fiery orange would remind him, vaguely, of daffodils

He sees himself as foolish for it, for

what young boy should feel a burden so heavy

simply for loving?