He was beautiful
and he was broken
and he was twisted
and he belonged to no one
he never could
he was unfinished
but perfect
A half done painting
all lovely curved pencil lines
but only half a face
half a pure soul
And I hoped to God he could be finished one day
because he was half an angel
but could never be mine
For the other half wasn't there
leaving him empty
and bleeding
And remorseless
and incomplete
he couldn't be touched
God had left him half done
and I cry for him