He sat with a morbid expression,
Staring past the winter hour
With a blank reflection in his eyes,
thunderstorm raging in his heart.

A faceless crowd pelts them stones,
Mere words decay this noble soul
Vengeance buried in a deep pit,
Beneath an isolation he wore.

Thoughts escalating back and forth,
What was the effect for this cause ?

Only an object for their amusement,
Time and again he felt so lost.

Meld into his young broken-heart,
Were the scars that made him old
And a Nightmare brewing fire,
He'd burn them for all they stole.


Led by the years of his degradation,
He now thirsts for bone and flesh.

The little sickly one they all knew,
Is now made into a monster instead.