Can his heart truly be black as night,
So evil and wretched it cannot feel?
Long tendrils coil along the veins,
Constricting the blood flowing beneath.
Thin branches spread out like fingers,
Entwining through silky strands of hair.
Grey clouds cover the bright sun,
Sending the world into utter darkness.
Sharp cries ring within the blankness,
Howling at the full moon above.
Can his emotions be cold as ice,
So algid and damaging it cannot breathe?
Transparent ice layers the water of the lake,
Masking the blue with depression and bleakness.
Dark snowflakes fall violently to the ground,
Coating the grass and hiding the life.
Harsh winds whip about,
Tossing loose branches aside as if they were feathers.
Bitter frigidness nips at the tips of noses,
Penetrating deep within this arctic tundra.
Can all this be true,
So true that I cannot lie?
Can all this be reality,
So that I cannot escape?