To have his love is to have misery,
You'll see it in his eyes.
To know his soul is to know pity,
You'll be tormented by his cries.
To be in his heart is to be in pain,
And so I thought, that maybe if I tried,
Perhaps I could discover what else he hides.

Though now that he's close,
I can't let him go,
And I'm afraid of what I may find.

Each inhale he takes is raspy and coarse.
The brush of his skin rattles my corpse.
With every blink a tear falls down his cheek.
When he whispers my name my legs grow weak.
The boy before me is beautiful and broken.
What am I to do with this wound I've clawed open?

And oh, how it bleeds
As steady as he breathes.
Only in his shame do I see
The blood is spilling- From me