My hands frozen,
My will distorted,
I write for freedom,
As I am not free to write.
I am hellbent on fury,
Focused on revenge,
the one who wronged me,
Will be wronged by the nights end.
The icey fires of my soul compelled to one event,
The burning of the bibles and the end of repent,
For god has not saved me, nor comdemned me to hell,
But left me to rot, on this miserable moment of mischieve.
I will avenge myself as myself has vowed,
I wish to be equal, not undermined as if I am foolish and withered.
My revenge will be swift,
As if carried upon a bird,
I shall be faultless in my pursuit of her.
For she is mine and not some mans mistress,
Nor shall i force her or grab her, expecting her to follow,
But plead and hope that she understands my sorrow.
I love not to hate, but hate is sometimes to love,
Loving for lust, as if I lust for love.
Hopefully she undertsands my riddle,
For she is my answer,
My miraculous mirror,
The saviour of my soul,
The curator of my creativity,
The bane of my life.