8 August 2012

When I was a child,

And you had no home,

I wanted to take you,

So you weren't alone,

I wanted relations,

And knew just one way,

I took a sharp thorn,

As my dark Athame,

There in the playground,

Next to the old oak,

I placed your wrist, there,

Over mine, then I broke,

I took the thorn, drew it,

Across, down our arms,

And knew I had caused up,

Both trouble and harm,

But that was our choice,

And our foolish decision,

In naive rejoice,

I made the incision,

I drew your blood, fused it,

Together with mine,

To form a relation,

To last for all time,

It never did work, though,

Our blood never met,

The rain soaked our skin,

And burnt out our last bet,

I still haven't seen you in many a year,

My little soul brother, in blood we're not near.

MelchiorJ13Blood Fusion • Opuss № I