Trails of memories
Cut across my arm
Every evil deed
Causing me harm

The pain pours out
In crimson red lines
A scarring reminder
Of sorrowful times

No tears can wash
Away my aching heart
Nothing can mend that
Which is torn apart

Often I remember
The days of old
When no one cared
Enough to scold

Happiness a dream
Empty, hallow
Slowy the blood pools
Warm, shallow

As my world crumbles
And suddenly shatters
I turn my back
For nothing matters

In the heat of a war
I hide in my cage
Basking in the warmth
Of my bloody rage

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Scarlatan, in the year 476 AF.