What Wild Beasts Know Part Two

He has grown on me
that silent man
who stalks my dreams
and haunts my reality.
Such things I say...
I share with him
my soul in a quiet way.
staring with sad eyes
dying eyes
what could I do?
everytime I turn
I see from his eyes
because his eyes
are my eyes.
His heart is my heart
his broken soul
is my broken soul.

How can it be,
that this numb beast
could wake at his touch?
I've learned to read him:
his twitching,
his movements,
even his expressionless face.
I've learned to love him:
his solemn ways,
his unexpected kindness,
his rare, beautiful smile
however slight it is.
I've learned to hate him:
his jealous moods
how he feels he needs to
protect me...
how he feels he needs to
watch over me.

He makes me feel
annoyed and frustrated
heh...a reawakened warmth.
Yes, he still motivates me
to continue to protect
to exact justice
without destroying myself.
I had wished for
that once to die
in the heat of battle
without a care
and without a cause.
But my little pup stepped in
and gave me one.
He stands in the way
of the holocaust I had planned
he guards me without question.

He makes me realize
that I am still human
that evil is not yet
the tyrant of my heart,
living on the edge of
sanity, he holds me back
His is the life, the air
and yet he is like me
murderous, vengeful
glaring at the world
that failed us so miserably
and yet, when we can
we serve those who we can.
We serve each other,
but most of all, he serves me
by loving me, and he does it all
without knowing he does.