Sure maybe life hits you with stones sometimes rocks.
Sometimes the pain feels like being shot in the gut by an oiled Glock.
Or being stabbed in the neck with a fork.
As you crumble to the ground wheezing so hard that you can barely talk.
Either way it comes down to one moment where you have to scrunch up your first and get back up.
Others can only help you halfway if you're willing to sit up.
Your eyes turn bloodshot when the surge of revenge courses through you.
Getting back up so fast it feels like voodoo.
Those that hurt you can only stand back and watch.
As you suck the blood from their veins like scotch.
The hurt creates a wound but the wound makes you stronger.
And before you jump in again next time you'll think a little longer.
As you stare out into the rain you can only help but wonder.
What would've happened had your head gone under.
Being through worse, a tiny flame in an icy cave.
Listening to the echo the place gave.
Your only wish was to help and save.
Like a knight in shining armour so confident so brave.
But like all who tried before you lost that battle.
God knows you tried to struggle.
But you went down hard in the mud.
And didn't realize it until you heard the dull thud.
You stayed in the mud for goodness knows how long.
And were oblivious to the birds which sang their song.
The ghost of your mother asked you what went wrong.
And your only reply to her was mama I am not strong.
Eventually when your withered dignity faded away.
You became a soulless being whose colour turned a dull grey.
Eventually your colour came back.
Just it wasn't white anymore but black.
Your thoughts were filled with hate and malice, your body sleeping with bleeding sores.
But your only active action was to feel remorse.
Now you're back on your horse this time as the dark Knight.
The wounds are memories and you are enriched with fresh might.
Your obstacle now is a witch tonight.
But this time you've got victory in sight.
– BlackHeart
