He is depression and cynicism wrapped in charisma and a killer smile,

but he’s good really, in his blue and grey soul.

I’m not really afraid of him, not anymore.

I love him and he said I was like the sun once.

There’s an edge to him, to his knife-like smile,

a strange violence in flinty, beautiful eyes,

as sharp as his intelligence are his features.

His name means Light Giving, and there is a light in him,

No matter how buried in charcoal dust it may be,

and there is a saint with his name,

the saint of doctors and artists, isn’t that funny?

I live in hope that he will love without reserve,

Himself and others,

I am trying to explain why I shattered my ice,

Why I let emotion and feeling flood my heart,

I don’t know if he understands yet,

But I know he will.



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