Edward Pale

Edward Pale was fifteen years old,
He was always unpleasant and ever so cold.
Although he was pale and extremely skinny,
He was as ugly as any man could be.
He didn't have friends like a boy his age should,
But his paintings meant more to him than anything ever could.
Nobody had seen him play, laugh, or smile
But his love for painting was crazy, almost senile.
He would stay awake with his paintbrush all night,
Creating morbid replications of everything in sight.
* * * * *
He loved his father and they spent a lot of time
Mocking the world in a cynical prose or a rhyme.
He would tell him unusual stories of all kinds
That further twisted the thoughts of his dark mind
One day, at school, his mother came to see him
And drove him to the church by the art museum
He realized he was in a funeral and he was in dread
When he gazed upon his father in his deathbed
He showed no grief, not even a trace,
Instead, Edward Pale had a smile on his face.
* * * * *
One day, at school, he fought with his only friend,
So he put Edward's face to an acid charred end.
The chemical set his pale skin ablaze,
His vision blurred until the world around him was a haze.
When he woke up, he walked to the mirror to see
His carelessly bandaged face with curiosity.
He ripped the bandages off his face
Of which the acid had eaten away every trace
Out the refreshed wounds blood began to pour
Edward was now uglier than he'd ever been before.
He showed no grief, not even a trace,
Instead, Edward Pale had a smile on his face.
* * * * *
One day, he found his paintings on fire
That was the end of all his hopes and desires
As he saw his world burning down before his eyes
The diabolic fire would only rise and rise.
As he watched the flames engulf his art
It was too heavy a blow for his delicate heart.
The very next day, his body was found
With a gash in his wrist, he was on the ground
Edward Pale lay lifeless on the cold floor
Smiling wider in death than ever before.