Out there lives a hermit
Of cryptic and mystic occult.
In written voice shouts:
Strident, harmonious and marvelous notes.
He exiles himself from people
And watches their every move.
Categorizes all their hearts in piles
And deciphers their intricate moods.
His skin glows with ink.
Veering away from human contact.
All he trusts, he believes from within.
Only he knows how he'll truly react.
He'll always write about
People he don't know.
So, they don't ruin his illusions.
He can mold and shape their life,
Without coming to the true conclusion.
Because a beautiful person can be ugly
And a kind notion turned to sin.
Can turn an angelic person deceitful
By not getting to know them.