There are cuts and bruises everywhere.
When he needs help no one's there.
His clothes are caked in mud,
And stained with his own blood.
After all he had fought off three men,
And thought it brave back then.
But now he felt stupid, for what he did,
For not being able to see what she hid.
The sorrow made him forget he was hurt,
As he slowly unbuttoned his shirt.
But pain doesn't just dissipate,
Even if your full of sorrow and hate.
He'd shown that he had a lot of guts,
As he walked into the shower covered in cuts.
When the water touched him he did cry,
And didn't stop till he was dry.
(I must explain, it wasn't his fault,
Underground water has a lot of salt.)
He'd just broken a promise,that he'd never cry,
His eyebrows narrowed as he wondered why,
True, his body was hurt and sore,
But obviously there was more.
There was a cut across his belly,
Which made his knees feel like jelly,
He felt weak and drained.
His right ankle was sprained,
His elbows were scraped and bruised,
His arms had been over-used.
Blood trickled down his left eye,
But that hadn't made him cry.
There was a deeper pain in his heart,
A pain he hadn't been able to tell apart,
From the bodily pain in which he'd woken.
The pain of his trust being broken,
Knowing the love he'd felt was a lie,
That broke him, and made him cry.
