I had believed in nothing but sin.
I had believed in nothing.
I had believed.

And in this belief I held that my day would come.
That within these thousands of lives between my birth and death,
I would find a one not soaked in my own blood.

And like a zealot I prayed so hungrily for peace.
For just a moment to myself; whole and holy.

So I find that I am not my enemy.
It is the loneliness. It is the darkness. It is the devilish deceit in eyes that once looked so pure.
It is the mouth with razor words; the heart of stone; the one who threw me to the ground when I begged and pleaded for love.

There is no love in the heart of a devil.

And so I found it in something old and used.
That I had kept hidden for far too long,
Until its dull crystals begged for sunlight.

Like the sun itself it shone, illuminating all the colors I'd never before seen.
And perhaps my wounds did heal,
Or at least begin to mend.

I never should have asked for love,
When my heart wasn't ready to receive.