that black, thickened soot on him,
suits him to the core of his self,

his gazes that could burn your skin,
with eyes black and cold and dark,
could leave you with sullen marks,
and all the while your skin crawls,
yet you only wish for more.
he will take your hands in his rough,
you will feel him strong and hard yet young,
that blank stare will be fixed on you,
while you feel squeamish under his glare,
and when he opens his hardened lips,
you will not hear no music, nor grief,
only the truth no matter how cruel it is,
he is a phantom and you are the dreamer,
hold on to him if you think you can,
deal with the truth that he only has to offer,
or let him go and let go of his fine hands.