he had been laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with dark eyes.

no tears fell, he knew that his punishment would be severe if he did.

he felt so alone, and he felt so worthless, so useless, a waste of air.

that's what his father told him every night.

the clock on his desk ticked to eleven, and as if on cue, the door opened.

his father's drunken footsteps could be heard from the other side of the house, where his bedroom was.

he said a silent prayer, silently begging someone, anyone, to save him.

he wished he could be normal, have friends who could come over, wished he could go to sleepovers and have a girlfriend, and just live.

he wanted to live.

but all thoughts faded away the second his father started yelling, the moment fists made contact with the bruises already decorating his skin, the moment the belt came down on his unhealed back.

this was his life now.

better to not have hope, than coax yourself into believing the lies of society.

there's no help, no escape.

this was his life.

this would always be his life.

and there was nothing that someone as shattered as him could do about it.

there was no place for someone like in this world.

he was better off just dying.

maybe he could see his mom again.

maybe he'd go to heaven,

but most likely not.

heaven was for angels

and he was no angel.

he was a demon, the darkness in the world.

there was no light,

no happiness,

and no future for him.