rosebud

he is tragically beautiful-

a beauty born of hard faces and broken words, dirt and blood and sweat.

the same hands that shake yours have held loved ones, shaking as he cries. his eyes are breathtaking and terrifying all at once. there is a tsunami in his pupils, storming furiously, thirty feet high and destroying everything in it’s path. or is it a wildfire—blazing brightly, unstoppable, wreaking havoc as it travels? a crown of twisted thorns pierce his skin and reveal drops of black blood because black is the color of death and suffering and it has pierced all the way into his bloodstream and he is pure agony—

through all this, he smiles: the one thing that has not been brought to life by his double edged world. it brings hope and overwhelming sense of serenity and absolute calm because things will work themselves out.

they always do.

a rosebud; sprouting on his crown. born of a smile, living on death.