May 30
When a noble heart is betrayed,
He runs not home, but feeds the flame.
Toward the low, he throws his grace,
A furious fall from a higher place.
As if to curse what once was pure,
To make his past no longer endure.
Not for pleasure, not for thrill
But to punish the light it once stood still.
He runs not home, but feeds the flame.
Toward the low, he throws his grace,
A furious fall from a higher place.
As if to curse what once was pure,
To make his past no longer endure.
Not for pleasure, not for thrill
But to punish the light it once stood still.
Even the most virtuous soul, when betrayed deeply enough, may seek ruin not out of desire, but as revenge against the very morality that once made them vulnerable. It is not corruption they chase, but justice twisted by pain.
