You Were What I Pictured

You were the bastard of the bunch,
Born without a sense of wrong or right
Like the rest of your family already knew.
But still your soul still yearns to try
Unfortunate to know
Or understand that your wrongs,
Are harmful to those around.

On and on it goes,
Wrapped around times little finger
Like a captured animal
Unable to see freedom from captivity.
Oh so unfortunate—
To your weak heart
Whose laughter has faded
From the all encompassing light
It once was.

To this I say ado,
Nights among this cold space
Without my pale and tragic face—
Where all it can be
To see what only can be dreamed.
And for you dear friend,
Watch thine step—
Where too few dare to tread.