Alchemisland

I am sickened by weakness, any meekness

Despising that malign mantle Victim

I would seek rectitude forthwith and in wrecking

Him who wrecked my youth gain some handsome victory

My bloodstained hands dirtied despite recent dipping, still dripping in fact

A sense of things tipping over, that soon it will be over, this strange act.

I thought that true, then not now, for I have proved

That revenge seekers should dig graves for two

I save myself for another day, that wretched man will rue the day.

My reckless blade shall pierce his vile, rat-kith frame, snuff out his flame

That will I do with the righteousness of a graced saviour

Let blood lace my sabre

Let my glaive and his brains be melded and interchangeable

Let me hit clean when I choose to do, a felling blow; one unassailable

Save it, save it, and in calming be more capable.

Some things cannot be forgiven.