He has blonde hair,

And the coldest blue glacier eyes,

I have ever seen.

He wears a black leather jacket,

With a gold pin,

Which has a pair of angel wings,

And every day for lunch,

He eats a tuna wrap,

With a pack of,

Blue raspberry sour patch kids.

He doesn’t know,

The meaning of the word trust,

And every night before bed,

He whisper to the picture frame,

On his nightstand,

“I hope you’re proud of me,

Dad.”

He takes fencing classes,

And is on,

The school track team,

But it is a mystery to me,

How someone like him,

Ever became,

So cold.