his eyes were carved in ice and marble

broken pieces of shattered colors

and lost breaths falling through gaping holes

in his small chest

his aching rib cage

be strong, they said, for you are a man

he swallowed the flames scattered beneath

his scarred skin

bruises on his tiny wrists

bruises on his delicate neck

he bites his plush lips

until red cherries have bled

and everything tastes of crimson

tense, and locked with secret words

laced through with blood soaked petals

until the boy with a voice made of paintings

took his hand and breathed

galaxies into his bloodied, beaten lungs

and stars onto his damp cheeks

brushing away imprints of tears

he thought he'd hidden so well

all his pretty pictures crashed and fell

gashes lining thighs and legs

but with each touch, he kissed them away

gripping curls and gripping fingers

holding his small body

he made himself smaller

but he said

you don't need to run

he stood up straight for the first time

their mouths molded together

grasping cotton, folding over hips

orchids blooming so intricately

they ached

healing all the punctured wounds

with his pretty golden thread

his skin was stained with daffodils

his throat painted in cinnamon

and he held him under a fallen sky

his eyes like

stained glass