How bitter he must be
To wake up in the morning,
He probably lays in silence.
To get up and look in the mirror
His scars raised.
The Devil.
To feel the unevenness,
What was once smooth.
He has to relive the horror daily,
Of Hell.
To walk out the door,
Telling himself it will be okay.
Over and Over and Over.
Beady eyes... Staring.
He wants to crawl in a hole,
and never come out again.
Crowded streets, but he is,
Still Lonely.
His family... Gone.
Starting New... Different.
He should think positive,
He keeps telling himself that.
But will it ever get better?
He asks himself that every day.
