Posted: December 30, 2011 in Diary Entry
Tags: ,

your hands are filled with blood of a dying man. you hope to help him out with some little hope of keeping him alive. rushing through crowds. shouting for help. the blood does not leave your hand. the feeling stays. one life. gone in your arms. futile tries to keep the soul back. and you mock the society which fears the consequences of the after math. for the life that has passed, you can only pray. hold the cape up. dawn the mask. walk back in the darkness. trying to heal the wounds of the sight seen, to get over the feeling of the blood on your hands. and trying to have a smile back. to pass it on to someone. waiting for the broken knight to heal. that he might get up and take the burden and pain again. for he’s just a man. with a heart. of flesh. filled with…. blood.


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