The Betrayer

He stands in the corner, watching me: His eyes are red like blood And he bears no name, rank, or identity— His skin is faded pale As if he has been drained of all soul. The white square upon his breast (A surrogate for where once laid a heart) Is the last innocent part of him— His body smeared with blood and dirt. When he was inevitably pierced with holes, His body was fed to the worms To be remembered no more. Now, even he doesn't know his true self, And his eyes are bloodshot red To match the soul that's left And reflect the anger underneath his ruined frame. For now, I watch him back To remind him that I will always believe him: Though even I could not tell him Who he once was.