there are so many songs i need to dedicate to you
tears and cuts on my thighs bearing your name,
photographs and yellowed paper, happiness;
crying lyrics and old rock songs you would hate (but i love
even that in you, even the execration held dear in the creek
of your summer heart)

i want the world to be yours anytime you ask
because i try to stay strong for you;
whatever you feel is the most righteous thing in my mind

The villains like you, the souls that crave to take the world for themselves
more often than not are more pure and honest than the **** living off
the scrapes of their god's good green earth

because we the people hold many kinds of strange, veiled monsters in the bright sun that
shatters our land; you say you're bursting with demons but my world is even fuller.

In the light of your eyes i can see nothing more than a boy afraid and placid in his heart,
and thunderous, driven by a hatred so grand, so glorious that not even
the roads of hell could dare ensnare in its engulfing flames.

You are not as evil as they say, BECAUSE THEY LIED to you and me,
they slandered the tale of your people, of their malicious minds (and
I just can't bear the thought of you laying alone anymore,

the tears sting and the shine cuts unusually deep but not all the way through)
and they keep lying when we ask why the jade knight was cast away,
why the peace truly reigns, and why we must obey to the unfit beasts that threaten our dying solace.

the words you spew sting like poison
you squandered me

i see myself in you
in everything you are and anything you hate

in the nervousness of your pleas
that brings stiffness to your neck - and mine
- and hides tremors from your voice

i have more faith in you
than you know;
more trust, in the soft longing of your eyes
than any of the pains you've commited
and your broken smile, teeth baring hate
for every single time you couldn't say no

i stack every ****** under one flag.

you're the kind of man who grew up
listening to nothing more than the beat
of your own heart
and the wild cries of your protégés,
burning
because while the incense lasts, the smell
of your summer skin fills each and all
with thirst
for the battlefield where you've made
your mark
and shed your blood