Kill
the boy.
You have to.
Surely you know
winter is coming:
innocence shall perish.
The cold corrupts tender things;
a knife in his young, beating heart
may be the only mercy he finds
white walking towards a broken future...What kind of man could he become some day?
Should ideals grow dense like his bones
the world might prove too small a stage
to project his destiny
you must protect the boy
that once lived in you.
All that remains
is ash, if
that boy
dies.