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A lover of war.
A hater of humanity.
A dreamer.
A threat.
He can stop,
But he won't.
He desires to have a chamber of good innocent hearts.
He wants them as caged showpieces.
Most disturbing of all,
He has a story, a past.

His ancestry drowned him in chaos and war.
You don't need scars
To be wounded.
You don't need tears
To be in sorrow.
You don't need a mystery
To be a secret.
Life is a forest,
Some trees rooted in content,
While others in hopes,
The chirpings are sweet and blissful,
While the roars are risky and lethal.
The wind carries lots of surprises and opportunities,
While the fire handles misfortune and misery.

Silence binds these elements together,
Making it heavenly.
Chaos tears them apart,
Making it hellish.
Always,
Something in the dark freaks me out.

The smoke suffocating the bright,
Or maybe the figure
Devouring the light,
It only gets worse,
Until,
It gets pitch black.

The dark needs a friend,
A friend to understand its pain and grief.
A friend to swallow its sorrows.

The dark is a hater of himself too,
But he's the one who burns himself in his agony,
To give rebirth to the
Light.
A door will always obstruct my path.
I'll never know what lies beyond it.
The breeze of golden opportunities,
Or the storm of continuing humdrum.
I'll never know.
The sugary luxuries,
Or the sour hardships.
I'll never know.
Might be divine,
Or disastrous.
I'll never know.
Unless.....
I open the unreliable door.
Angelic faces have demonic realities.
White has some hidden black.
Good always needs evil.
Light is because of dark.
Sparkling eyes,
Perfect eyes,
Looking up at the night sky.
The night contented with itself
Mocks the man,
And stares at him strangely.
The man maddened with himself
Watches in the mirror,
Not his admired or braved self,
Not what people call him-
The man who feels no pain,
But his terrible and lifeless self,
His twisted reality.
Plenty of bloodstains colour his white bed,
Deep scars on his body are not so deep for him,
Unforgettable injuries are still forgettable for him.
He lets out a final sigh,
And stabs himself,
Looking up at the night sky,
With his sparkling eyes,
His perfect eyes,
Longing for pain,
Fear,
Suffering...
This poem is a continuation of my previous one- the man
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