face unperturbed, besides the wall, beneath the stairs,
a lacklustre front; a flustered mind,
with no love of the divine,
only in darkness, and despair,
he finds his only heir.
heroes of the underclass, forgotten and forlorn,
exalted – without which,
he would be soon be gone,
in a tragedy of his own.
or is he gone?
one knows not,
legend to myth, myth to dust,
scattered carelessly across us,
in somnolence, he whispers,
he is on his way to his kingdom.
So don’t, hate, him.
perkaraperkara 
Quite a word for him.Don't hate him anymore. I've never regarded him in th same light tht you, ichi, dayana n dila did anyway.He was just…queer.
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more than queer.
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Red lights. That's what I see when I look at him. Dangerous on so many levels. Even to himself. But I don't know him, nor do I want to.What happened to 'nenek'. Doubt I'd ever forgive him. for simply existing. I'd like a pair of scissors myself and 'cut' where he wishes it so.Ah, enough. Do 'whatever' me.
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red lights, perhaps. fire. fiery. but red flickering lights do attract many a person, however dangerous they may be. and one must go around, carefully, as to not be… burnt. hoh ironic. oh come on. those scars faded as quickly as her interest on him. i think.forgive them, for they know not what they do.is he even alive?
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icarus.
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Dunno. KLIUC I think. Don't rmmbr.You be Icarus. I'll be a bucket of water. Or an ABC class fire extinguisher. Whatever works.
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