he draws orchids over his lips

to hide the bruises on his wrists

his cheeks cut from their sharp breaths

the twisted fingers upon his neck

delicate eyes that hold the secret dreams

in which he resides tangled in his broken limbs

they've torn each flower from the ground

and grabbed at his hair, yanking the sunshine

weaved between his crown of crescents

painted him in his cries

they bottled his endless tears

and grasped his shattered pieces

they scooped him out and turned him in

until he was sure, nothing could be left

a ghost of a boy beaten black and blue

maybe bruises can be orchids too