crona ....

he is a just a kid and no-one cared for him as a little child, when he did something right he was useless and when he did something wrong he was punished, when he wrote a poem it was sad he even went into a room and sat in the corner crying. his weapon is his blood ( Medusa melted a demon inside his blood ) his poem goes:...

I cannot speak as long as I am wrong
I cannot be ब्रेव as long as I am alive
How can I end a life?
How am I supposed to deal with this?!?!?!!?

The blackness of my blood reflects,
The darkness that I will always be,
I am a dissapointment and nothing more,
I am pain and regret and nothing else.

Each time I fail I am imprisoned in my own pity,
Each moment of regret pushing me away from myself,
When I do whats right I am punished,
When I do whats wrong I am worthless.

Even when others are near I only feel loneliness,
Even when I am strong I feel weak,
I can feel it squirming from the pain I had caused
I can feel it dying.

All the cracks on the दीवार I have memorized,
All the shades of darkness are my rainbow,
Today I will see colours,
Today I will see red...