Scars on Innocence

He's been in that house as long as he can remember.. but he wishes he didn't. The dirt and garbage didn't matter to someone who grew among it. The rats, his pets. His hideaway is just above his own house where he watches sunrise after sunrise, on his roof. He'd be there every time it rained as well, watching the raindrops fall on his head, cleansing him, and on all the roofs of the houses so close by, flowing through its slopes and grooves and dripping on the puddles below. He'd watch the menacing clouds as they soar past. Behind him he would often watch as the trains pass by high up on the bridge near his slum. He doesn't speak much for fear of being hit for it. The fading golden lights that light up the streets close by colours his thoughts, his mind, his life.
He runs away he could leave his home. Clambering over the roof tiles falling and hurting himself further but running still far far away from the place he lives in. He is afraid of everything around him but god. He cries himself to sleep under the stairs where people walk by without noticing him bleeding to his death. His innocence earns him the little he gets, begging from people, to taste the food his mouth watered for, the food the people sell on little carts. His companions are the street dogs. They are his blanket when he is cold. The most love he's got is from them, unconditional.
Grabbed and pulled away from his sleep, strong hands hold him brutally. He is taken away and put behind bars. A child behind bars, now cries, cries that cannot be heard by hearts of stone. He is beaten and asked for reasons on crimes he did not commit. His face brutally disfigured as he tried to stop them. He is left in the dark cold for days and nights that don't seem to differ.
He hears the sound of birds. After years of brutality he is back to the place where he started, home. Now unrecognizable and scared, he cannot smile. What lies below those scars is no longer visible. The beautiful innocent face of a 9year old is now gone. All that is left is scars, scars that don't allow tears, nor smiles.