tell me,

what will become of me now?

i am immortal.

i am not one of love.

i was not made for such thing.

i have outlived countless lives.

each and every one of them taken

by my bloodstained grasp.

you know i can take your own single-handedly,

so why don’t you feel any fear?

your flesh decays,

while mine only persists.

i reap.

i don’t love.

so tell me,

why does your love shake me so?

i’m not one to feel sorrow nor pain.

if it’s i who’s the cause of it.

not a single tear had i shed until you came along.

and now i drown in them.

the heart i thought i never owned aches for you.

so, please—

tell me, my dear,

what will become of me now.

for i am a god

and you own a mortal life.

why must i love what i’ve come to take from you?