With a passion lost comes the sun that does not shine,

For a footing of surface did fall beneath thy feet,

As the life that dragged an emptiness from within begged a question not asked or seen,

She said the sky was not mine to swim beneath,

Brandishing me with a mark unasked for and unearned,

With the mark came substance and malice,

With the mark came their hatred,

They said the light was not mine to bathe in,

So my fist became my voice,

And violence my weapon of choice,

Their blood seeped into wounds their broken bones made in my flesh,

Diseased was their linage,

Decaying was my sin,

A pyre of dreams,

Flames burning away,

My pittance,

My vengeance,

My tormented soul…