Czernobog

I hate the fact that I want her.

I hate the look she gives me.

I hate feeling helpless.

I don't even know who she is.

Do I fall? Do I join the angels in the abyss?

The hole in myself could be filled, my soul made whole, if I could bring myself to love.

To open my heart is to have it cut out.

To confide in another is to be ridiculed for who I am.

Would she be any different? Would she take me in her arms, and comfort me, and allow herself to be comforted?

Would she love me, truly, without shame?

I cast myself into the pit, and never will know.

And I hate myself for it.

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Embrace the flame