he once had a future,
but they tore that from shaking hands
like cruel gods,
laughing at his whispered prayers,
mocking his broken pleas for absolution
as he sobbed into darkness.
they took a hold of his mind and pulled,
until he forgot the sound of his name
on his own tongue;
and if he ripped out his heart
he would find it blackened and numb -
(they made him forget what it was to love).
they burnt his humanity down to the ground
and made him watch in silent horror
while they danced in the ashes of its death,
twisting him into something new,
something inhuman.
something harsh and vicious and cruel,
like metal upon flesh.
and even now,
with stitches in his heart
and a fire in his soul,
he sometimes wishes for that darkness once more;
death would be more welcoming
than the memories of this life.
perhaps some boys are born for tragedy / e.r