Thoughts of a Loner.

Sycnopant. (By Sapphirus)

He sat in the dark corner,
A corner in his dark room,
Playing the role of a Sycnopant burnt,
Burnt his house away,
Burnt the bridges away,
The wood now dark and charred,
Decaying,
Yet holding,
Holding together an illusion.

He sat in the dark corner,
Leather cold under his touch,
Cold as his crimson eyes,
Eyes searching for another soul,
Soul to grasp,
Soul to isolate from the warmth of life,
Soul to strangle,
Soul to feed upon,
With straying longing in gaze,
Longing not for warmth,
But longing for murder and slaughter again,
Bloodlust unknown beckon.

He sat in the dark corner,
A corner in his dark room,
Chalice of wine in his grasp,
Entwined,
His muse was she,
Relationship surreptitious,
Exciting,
The rendezvous always thrilling,
As wine gave him life,
As he kissed the darkness every night,
His cold lips enveloping,
His fangs burying for the piece of night,
Enveloping the Damsel of Night,
Feeling the tenderness,
Her passion dripping,
Fingers of silence digging his back,
She was his void,
Nyctophile was he.

He sat in the dark corner,
A corner of his dark room,
Unsheathed blade resting,
Resting on the counter,
Hilt worn out,
Dried blood which once trickled,
Blood of all he burnt,
His mind enveloping everything.

As he sat in the dark corner,
A corner in his dark room,
No bridges to enter his house,
House he called his "Heart",
Pitch black darkness within,
As his muse.

~ Sapphirus