As unruly as a ball of steel wool

his hair creeps down across an ill-made face.

His eyes, they twitch at an unnerving pace.

All the while his eyelid droops, like a fool.

His limbs, they hang as scrawny as a small stool,

useless protrusions into the vast space.

And his skin is tough, like a carapace.

Controlled by a mind that is a dulled tool.

But step a little closer; take a look,

His eyes are caring, very overlooked.

In his movements there is an unseen gait.

A million hurts that from others he took,

fill up his memories, overbooked.

He wanders through life, unsure of his fate.