In the darkness we call
Night, the angel sleeps
Fitfully.
In the deadly prose of adolescence
A hero emerges
Only to be
Quelled
By the ever ominous presence of his
Fate.
Struggling for a place
In this spiteful world
Of hate
A fallen angel will weep
Fighting for control,
Power, rights,
Love.
Brooding in silence
For all these years
How has he survived?
Maybe
We'll never know.
Emotions a blur
He angers
Easily.
Betrayal
Love
Anger
Lust
Lie.
These are the
Workings of his
Mind.
Solitude
Is his only refuge.
But even then
He cannot truly
Achieve it.
For his mind
Is otherwise
Occupied.
The beauty lies
Deep within
His mind.
For in his soul
Is where the true distortion
Lies.
The tears of pain
Turn to tears of
Hate,
As he carries on
Blindy.
Indifferent to the world
He can only
Wallow
In his own twisted
Sorrows
Play his own twisted
Game.
He is broken.