Angel of Death
The darkest wings
Curl around his shadowed form,
Silhouetted against the dim sun,
His back turned against the world
That had turned its back on him.
The harshest ice
Runs through his veins,
Chilled and frozen by the world's cold touch
After being forsaken from its embrace.
The darkest hate
Hardens his heart
That had learned it had to be strong
Empty
If it wanted to survive.
The hottest fury
Burns in his eyes
Intensified and fueled by those who diverted their gaze.
Hot enough to burn those who hate him
Or use him.
The bitterest blood
Stains his hands
Endless pain and crimson tears soaking his skin
And turning him empty against the world.