Denied
You were an infection.
Rotten flesh,
clotted blood.
You called yourself The Forsaken.
And you survived feasting upon us,
mortals.
And you justified it.
But you can’t.
No one can.
You always had choise.
And you always choose to deny.
And between the layers of submision and the layers of betrayal,
you choosed to die.
Let me tell you that Kafka didn’t write about you,
don’t try to be who you are not.
You are different,
but also i am.
I am entangled between thorn arms.
Old black ink stains,
lowing through my old skin.
You were perfect,
the ideal gentleman
with flaming armor.
You called yourself The Forgotten.
And you survived killing anyone
who disagree.
And you vindicated it.
But you can’t.
No one can.
Until you see yourself sowing the seed of fear.
Until you know us, mortals, still mourn your death.
Until these scars tell me that I was wrong,
that it was just another passenger,
tearing up this flesh,
tiring up this blood,
you will never be forsaken,
you will never be forgotten.
So please,
stop haunting my dreams.
I don’t want to be afraid of that darkness.
Not anymore.
