• he stood, shadows falling around him
    and all of his committed sins.
    the skulls of his enemies adorning
    his neck, weighing
    him down, into an ocean of despair
    tained red, until he drowns.

    a bladed shaman, his spear impailing
    the hearts of all he never had.
    now making them all incapable
    of love
    and living.

    he puts on his metallic mask -
    cooling away the heat of fury;
    the core of his being.
    the shell is scalding;
    burning away all truths.
    there's a meltdown,
    he's collapsing, trying,
    failing, to get up again.

    why should they recieve, so easily,
    what he has failed to obtain?
    hands upturned, forever unsated -
    greed as their stomach; eroding,
    eating away at the pain.

    but still he stands in
    the shadows of the
    midnight sun.

    he will never meet what he seeks
    so eagerly.
    like paralell lines, they run
    never to cross paths.
    only trying to get closer,
    as it veers off again,
    as fleeting as a mistress, lover -
    a breeze, a faint touch of the hand
    he will never recieve.

    so, he waits, for the lines to break,
    he can see it again,
    the vitality he tried so hard to steal
    from every fool, drowning in the scarlet
    blood of his mistake.

    so, they attempt
    to drag him down too, but, he
    only tries to wash it away with more blood,
    staining his heart black as it dries,
    his mistakes covered over,
    through the sword in the heart of his lies.