Poetry 2

It swallowed him up. What started with an inch of skin here, and an inch of skin there, it became whole parts of his body. A foot, an ankle, calf and a knee. It ate at his body, greedily claiming him as it's own. He became sluggish and immobile, though he never felt pain.

People always called him a golden child, a prodigy, a god. They loved his golden skin, his honey eyes and warm voice. He was honest and sincere, kind and sweet - but he hated it all. He wanted to be mean, he didn't want to be the one to forgive, he wanted to hate people and treat them how he wished to. He hated being on that pedestal and wanted desperately to climb down.

He slept around, seduced the older men, friends of friends, friend's brothers, random men. He had his favorites, but they always fell for him, they always loved the idea of him, bit they never saw the true home to be in love. He fell to bad way, and soon his name was tainted. He fell from the pedestal, he was no longer praised, instead - he was looked down upon.

Everyone thought he didn't see the side eyed look he got, didn't hear their whispers when his back was turned - but he did. He heard, saw, and felt everything.

It ate him whole, one to turned into two, a foot then a calf, a knee and a thigh. He couldn't find it in himself to get out of bed. He was sluggish and unmotivated, he couldn't move without feeling the void.

He was promised relief, promised fitful sleep and brighter, shining says. Where his sun kissed soon, now shined gold. A perfect appearance, but an empty man. People admire him again, staring at him with shining eyes. They wish for his beauty, but they don't know of the horrors he's felt, of the things he's heard and seen. They only see the surface, and never what lies beneath.