Wicked Man’s love

love/hate/triumph

There was a wicked man,
And he loved a woman.
The woman was in love with him,
And it was just like heaven.
Except the man was wicked,
The wicked man.
He hectored and bullied -
The weak and the ugly;
He tortured and killed -
The wise and the brave;
He plundered and burnt -
The houses of the poor.
And then he laughed,
Like it pleased him,
Like it filled a vacancy.
Deep down in his heart -
His black coal filthy heart
That dripped anger and hate -
All that he did,
Only reminded him to do it more;
Do it more often;
And do it more viciously.
Cruelly.
Infinitely.
So he did.
For love couldn’t fill the vacancy in his heart.
His coal black heart,
From which dripped the cries,
That echoed in his dreams,
And made him restless.
Even when on good nights when he made love to the woman,
He still needed to draw blood,
From the veins of those,
He hated so much.
Because they existed.
It vexed him.