Dear, demon boy.
One with a heart as strong as the northern cold,
but as weak as molten gold.
One who bears eyes as kind as the waters,
but when angered; turns into a pool of hell's fires.
Dear, demon boy.
Strike your arrows once, and they shall fall.
Strike your arrows twice and in agony they will call.
Strike your arrows thrice and they shall perish in destined sorrow. But how many times do you wish to strike your blades at that violet haired fellow?
Dear, demon boy.
Make sure not to show your other side.
Many people will be shocked of what hides behind.
He will be tortured under the sun, as you wish.
No time for a sweet kiss. And only then, you will hear his painful, beloved hiss.
Dear, demon boy.
One who is unlike a monster himself.
How does it feel to play the killer yourself?
YOU ARE READING
𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉 || ♛
Poetrysᴇʀ∙ᴀᴘʜ /'serəf/ ɴᴏᴜɴ ᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʟɪᴄ ʙᴇɪɴɢ; ᴀssᴏᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʟɪɢʜᴛ, ᴀʀᴅᴏʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜʀɪᴛʏ, ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴄʜʀɪsᴛɪᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏʟᴏɢʏ _______________________________ A 'Seraph of the End' short poetry book. (2018)
