His mother was the first person to damage his unmarked, uninjured and unscathed inner being.
He was a year old.
It was the type of destruction that left him to slowly grow an unsettled mind, theorizing that his mother was never in the complicated formula of his birth.
He called me by my full name the night his unstable lips narrated the story of an undeveloped infant being thrown into a heap of barbwire.
My pale blue weary eyes closed and I saw the blood inside of his skin rapidly rush to his fragile not yet completed skull, which made his head turn into the colour pallet of a man named Lucifer.
He told me he loved me that night and I replied with a gentle stroke from my fingers, which touched his unshaven chin.
It was four months after that night when my body plunged itself alongside the floor, hugging the large rectangular carpet situated in my bedroom.
His agonizing, unbearable voice was resonating through my inner ear drums mumbling the words of a person who is no longer in love.
He burned wholes in my skin with his articulation.
I realized then whilst water and blood streamed from my body that not only did his mother throw away his body that day but also she threw away his love.
I sat shaking, hugging my knees comprehending the idea that I fell in love with a man who has similarities to a creature named Satan.
I didn’t know how to feel.