His black eyes were filled with despair
But to the bitterness of his sword, it did not compare.
His soul was deprived of rest
His voice was lost lest it be heard.
His hands were iron, holding onto his weapon
But he waits, for his darkness to beckon.
His eyes were void of sleep
As his life slowly depletes.
And the one he waited for
Was too filled with zest
To help keep him from distress.
He contained no love
But his opposite had enough
His presence was like a vacuum
But his opposite was like an heirloom.
He was like a black hole
Ready to capture what was old.
He is cupid’s opposite.
The one who waited like a puppet,
Never to have seen the light
Never to be filled with delight
He is cupid’s opposite,
The one who holds his bitter sword
The one you blame
He was cupid’s friend, but never again.