The pain of loosing your childhood to a demon.
He took him from his home,
Only to make sure they were all destroyed.
The times he would beat him into obedience,
When he'd would nearly slaughter him,
The blood running from his mortal wounds,
They were nothing,
Compared to the ones left behind on his soul and mind.
The times he would use his body,
For his own sick pleasure.
Over and over,
He wouldn't stop,
The tears of anger
Shame, pain and humiliation,
They did nothing but fuel his desire.
A prince made to serve another,
A mere monkey to all those around him.
He'd show them,
He'd show them all,
The demon killed his people,
And little by little
The tears cried by those he was forced to kill,
All in the name of his "master"
The tears he cried
For those people,
For his people,
Those tears were not the tears of a child,
Those tears were what made a child,
When they fell they took childhood with them.