you have tried to mold me into your perfect weapon,

the weapon of your atrocious dreams for the paradise that will never come.

you failed.

all you turned me into is an outcast to the world.

because of your lack of virtue,

instead of a perfect weapon,

you are on your own.

crack bones with blind agression,

like the black bired you turned me into,

whose wings are broken.

you have been fighting without the focus of your forgotten plight.

the plight that have forgotten became your lost faith of what is right.

so what should have been your perfect weapon,

became your down fall.