Marked by the Devilโs touch, a discord of shades erupts in unjust warfare, exposing the malediction bestowed at birth. When the past haunts, wounds bleed anew.
They spat on me, cursed me and despised me, convinced the Devil had touched me at birth. Turns out I was only good as long as I wielded my sword. For them, I was a persona non grata. For you, I was. . . more. Your confession branded me yours, eternally.
External forces may inflict their efforts into pulling us apart in fits of jealous envy yet they will be met with a taste of failure for a wholesome soul projects its blinding light in all directions, unknowingly vanquishing any coup.