Unloved by either. Hated by both
A human child, born to suffer
As he grew, so did the It.
Coddled close to his chest,
The chilling wings of forgotten spirits
Slapped against his sunken, mottled face
Trudging through the swamps, so he went
By dreary light of day, and richness of night.
The oily orbs, cast over with a glassy film,
Gave his mind a free plane to roam.
At first they stood from afar, faceless
And watchful, though not harmful.
Though the sunless skies thickened,
Shrouding whatever good was left
And feasted on its insides.
Yellow and gold fire tongues,
Burst from Hell’s brightest wick.
Then came the maw of madness,
Snacking on his frail bones,
And gnawing at his impressionable brains.
Frolicking from the confines of his dreams
And of weak apparitions watching from afar,
Morphed into prying eyes too close to bear.
From he they fed, taunted, and mocked
Until walls bled and sheep spoke.
Dangling from a precipe is a human flag,
Eyes hollow as caves, stony and cold as
Cocytus. Bound to this Earth, held aloft
By his warm hearted human companions.
Though their grips loosened, and so did the boy’s
As the chattering, snickering devils
Coerced him with bitter truths and sweet lies
On his flesh they tugged, his grave they dug;
For a human’s mind is a playground,
An object for powers above, below, and between.