Him

(Beaten and also bruised)

He is lovely. Torn and beautiful. All different colors of spirits prod and taunt his soul.  He was his own 

enemy.  His honesty was as low as the trenches in the deepest ocean. He would let others take control and 

do as they do. He was taken down his own path of destruction. He was dead to some, loved by most. Not as 

loved as his future held him. His house was a hotel. To sleep. Then to leave again. Nothing else was priority 

but the sting of alcohol down his throat. To dispense all his unwilling and desperation on other people. 

Fogging up who he really was. Why everyone loved him, he was not afraid to prove everyone wrong. To 

check where they stood. He cut out so many in a matter of two years. For who?