Unable to hide completely
you cover your hands with gloves.
I look into you and see
the shimmer of long lost loves.

The remnants of which oppress you
the weight growing out of proportion.
In spite of all the dear ones
you’re alone to face distortion.

Stabbed in the back by an ignorant
friend, who perhaps loved you dearly.
The mind so very much alive while
the body surrenders to death showing beauty

almost entirely veiled by what must be
the mildew of envied joy.
Betrayed by time you’ve lost the looks of
what you still are, a boy.