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He walked,
Drowning in his hatred,
Alone,
Forever in solitude,
He is the line,
The line between love and hate.
He bled,
He shed the sacred liquid,
For the ones he cared for,
They tried to kill him,
Tables turn.
He killed,
He killed in pain,
In vein,
They lay dead.
He cried,
for the lose,
He didn't mean to,
He didn't want to.
He'll never,
love again,
never feel the joy,
The feeling he yarns for,
The feeling he doesn't know,
is burning in his cold soul.