I still don't know

how he came through the scalding mist

of his own fear, 

he who was so lacking

in skin that it was as if all of his

huddled nerve endings

were fully exposed to the 

merciless taunts

of a world cheering for his self-immolation.

How did he survive the axe-blows 

to his flimsy skull, the ones that 

rendered him 

a flailing,

helpless refugee 

in the Minotaur's Cave

of his own life?

Was it a world grown suddenly

merciful,

or was it he who grew more

merciless

and resigned to the futility

of hope?