The fact is, you attack with flaming knives.
A searing red orange and yellow aura of rage shadows your every move.
I know your head says no but you still say yes.
Like a steel door, never made to open.
I know what I did was unjustified and you can neither forget nor forgive those grotesque events, and you allow yourself to spiral down your steps of solitude.
But I always forgive you.

Do not allow rage and sorrow to become your routine embrace.
I hope for you to heed my idea, yet instead receive retreat to your never-so-humble abode and smile at your evils.
A wolfpack of one.

Allow those around to aid, and accept any attempted alliances approaching.
Solitude, sorrow, introverted tendencies.
A black and stale attitude never seeing the beautiful light of day,
Yet I know you can conquer your tower mountain of issues and plague.
I attempt patience past foreseen capacity; don't allow yourself to cascade down your summit any further.
An ethereal presence, prone to masochistic agenda.