This is a poem I wrote a while ago about how Loki felt during the attack on New York.
Brother, no! This isn't me! You want to scream (he isn't your brother)
Rust and rubble and ruin (you create glorious chaos)
Off course, you're about to crash (and you'll burn, like it's the heroes death you'll never deserve)
Knives in your heart and a shadow over your soul (he was always so much greater than you)
Empty and numb (you'd give your world to feel again)
No, Brother! This isn't me! You want to scream (but you've been captured and tortured and)
broken