Why do I keep writing things that involve Vincent? He's not my fav. Character. Sephiroth is.

Arg, it's aggravating, but that's okay, I'm working on a really stupid Seph fic. Oh, square is god.

That's enough credit. This is a depressing Vincent poem that I wrote about a year ago while sitting in a formal dress. Don't ask...

Uh.... title....let's see.... I think I'll call it....

The Pain of Being Vincent

(I hope that wasn't too bad...)

I see your stares, I hear your thoughts

"He's a monster, he's a demon!"

My thoughts lie beyond your shallow accusations based on altered looks.

My past is full of suffering, my present filled with pain.

My future is uncertain and I have myself to blame.

What do you know of me?

I am a monster and a demon, but you don't know why!

You don't realize the depths of my scarring, not the torture put to me by all and none at once.

My arm is shod in metal, my heart in stone.

A wrath, I fear, brought upon myself all my own.

Angels are falling and demons are prowling but what do you care?

You're in your little home with your creature comforts.

For twenty five years the wooden lid of a coffin had been my only comfort, save for a casket lined with velvet and clothing of silk, but they comfort me not!

I have woken from a troubled slumber to find a troubled world that someone thinks I can help save.

But how? I couldn't even save myself.

I find shadows of my past being specters of my present and they haunt me worse than before.

There is no escape from anything, except in death.

...I find I am no longer allowed to die...

A demon has been turned loose inside of me, constantly clawing my soul to get free and wreck havoc.

Could this be a punishment of my sins?

Was Hojo acting not of his own will, but of a higher power to rectify the mistakes and condemn a man whose fate fluttered in the wind?

Or is he an angel of life, not letting me die so that I may suffer my mistakes over and over...

Slaying the innocent for pay... A Turk, a killer for hire-and I enjoyed it, back then.

...Now I only think how stupid a boy I was, taking joy out of death.

Now, I think of how I will not feel the sweet release of death, at least not now...

Not now, since the threat that looms over the entire world must be defeated by a misguided bunch of misfits...

The son of my beloved angel takes the shape of a defiled, one-winged angel and my mission is now is to slay him.

Just when I have had enough of the killing, I find I must kill once again...

And you wonder what, out of all this, makes me a monster....a demon?

My sin was that I knew the plot... I knew the fate of the son borne to the woman I loved...

His fate was to be an experiment... A perfect creature for war and destruction...

Hojo and Lucretia succeeded all too well... And I did not stop them...

Simple intervention could have stopped so much killing...so much pain...

Alas, I tried to intervene at the last moment, only to end up an experiment myself...

But my inaction had transformed me into a demon long before Chaos was ever introduced.

I no longer live my life... I am a specter among the living, stranded among mortals to make up for what I lacked to do in true life...

I can never truly make up for the past... the sins of the father and the sins of the son are blood on my hands... blood that will stain for all of eternity....

I tire of everything... the killing... the blood... the sins... the guilt....

I would like nothing more than to fade out of existence and memory....

I would like nothing more than to die in peace... nothing more...



Wow, I depressed myself

Of course, some people would tell you I do that too much anyway

Any Vincent fans who want it, I offer my complimentary tissue, free with every reading

of a depressing fic.

NO DA

Peace, Love and Playstations,

VTK

^,-,^