There are two halves to this body.
Two minds fight over the future every day.
On The Right:
The SweetLight
She was a pretty thing some said
Her eye was sometimes grey,
Sometimes blue.
Her bones were slim and fine,
Her skin was white and clear.
The light that shone in her eyes was sweet,
The hand that carried the knife was fine,
Her cuts were always clean and plain,
She never had to feel the pain.
Behind her eyes there lay the hate,
Within her mind there lay the rage,
The anger of ten years in a cage.
On her other half she wrought her pain.
On the Left:
The DeadLight
The broken voice was seldom heard,
More than a cry as the blood flowed free.
The skin was gone,
Torn away in the endless struggle with torment.
Its eye had long ago lost its sight,
A victim of the long days of starving.
On its broken arm it carried all the scars,
That pale battered face that never saw the stars.
It longed for some magical release,
The freedom that only death would bring.
It could only hear the words of hate,
Bore the brunt of every slash,
From the sweet light at her side,
And dying within it was never quite free.
But which half was the more like me?
