Fallen

*this is a poem I wrote a while ago, it accompanies a picture i drew and wanted to explain...heh. don't know if it's any good, so any comments welcome*

Ripped from his world,
Naked, burning he crouches,
Pearly white skin, purple blue,
Scratched, torn, broken.

He fell miles,
Discarded by the hand that created him,
Tortured souls reached out, Scratching,
They fought for a bit of his tender skin,
Tore at his face, his body, his heart.
Blades of fire slashed his eyes, scars blind him.

He fell miles,
He landed severely;
One wing mangled beyond recognition,
Feathers bent, twisted, the pain excruciating,
The other, ripped from his fragile skeleton,
Only a blistering stump remains.

But he didn't fall far enough.
His knees smacked, sickeningly against the jagged rocks.
Un-able to move, a tangle of feathers shows the mechanics of this parody;
The skull white bone, the scarlet blood, colours of corruption.

Instead of falling to the torture, misery and anguish of hell,
He crashed into land, sea, Earth.
Destined to be ridiculed, scoffed, out-cast,
He bleeds rivers of tears.
Preparing himself for the time of discovery,
Preparing himself for death,
Preparing for the worst thing of all,
Life.