Alone with his heart

Anton rested his gaze on the soft palette of colors seeming to float, gracefully in the air before him. His dark, deep eyes glistened in the light, glimmered black and reflected softly. Softly like his skin. His skin he thought was dreadful, terrible. Filled with scars that only reminded him of how he bled to rid of the emptiness he felt inside. Yet it was unbearable how much he wanted to be touched. 1

Delicately, like his bones. He wanted to know affection, what love felt like. He'd only ever been handled roughly; taken advantage of, and with each person he hated his spirit dampened, his tenderness dimmed. Had he been so bad and done so much wrong? Why was he so alone. Didn't anyone understand. Hadn't anyone ever realized how much he needed them. How much he longed for their haunting feelings, their souls.2

When he said 'hug me' he must have said 'beat me'
When he said 'love me' he must have said 'disown me'
When he said 'I'm here' he must have meant somewhere else.
Ignored, though he never asked to be noticed.3

He didn't know what he wanted, exactly. But he knew something was missing--his life and the will to live it. It seemed he deserved to bleed than be happy. Hanged because he was. And where was he, sitting alone in a dark room with the small heart his mother gave him. Once, when she still loved him. Stitched and filled with cotton. Like a boy, alone with his broken heart.