Fuyumine Naoto
Poem
Prompt 10: I didn't use the lyrics much, I just listened to the song and read it, then left it and started writing.
Character: Naoto
Disclaimer: Love it, but don't own it.
Note: I didn't do this in a formula or anything... it's more like Naoto's thoughts.
It’s not a home. It’s not a family.
It’s a single-minded life, her second one,
Each day with this man she hates.
I am not a girl, I am not a woman,
I am not a victim, I am not the member
Of a home, or a family,
I am no one who is loved.
I am a person with a blade who longs to kill someone,
To sink my steel in until it hits bone,
Everything darkens to red, and the metal and salt smell floods my nose.
I will fight until my skill has stolen the vibrations of the last heartbeat
From the body of the one who ended my first life.
Old man with the frustrated, angry eyes…
Don’t take care of me. Stop talking to me.
Just make me good enough to kill you.
I hate you!
Even though the site of you brought me back to life,
And awakened this growling part of me, that itches
To sink my new knife into your chest, and finally leak tears to mix with your blood.
Revenge, revenge, revenge
For taking me, keeping me, and confusing me
with your sad expression, and my name that makes me sick.
Why do you look at me with those eyes, like someone else’s face
Reflected in that ruined mirror.
You shouldn’t be the kind of person who saves me,
Or gives me a coat to hide my shame.
I like it better when you’re keeping secrets,
Or frowning while we go over new ways to kill you.
I always fight to kill, and I know you still smirk like it’s a good thing.
You’re too confusing.
I wish I wasn’t able to tell that your weathered face and weary, regretful, eyes
Sitting behind the cracks of the warped glass
Are completely different from those of your crazy rapist pupil.
I wish that day hadn’t shown me the way instincts react
To make nerves tingle around dangerous people,
The way mine never do around you, even that first day I charged at you,
Desperate for the chance to bite and cut at you till you bled,
More, much more, than my parents and I.
Neither of us expects much of a change, I think.
Because even though I see your real eyes sometimes, I still don’t feel at home,
And you never tell me the truth, even when I grew more comfortable here,
Or accustomed, anyway, and maybe afraid of change.
Now I think, ‘I’m able to kill you’, all those times you turn your back to me,
Though I can’t quite work up the nerve, with your shoulders slumped that way.
How will you fight back enough to sate my bloodlust,
Off-guard and unprepared, these last eight times,
With your backing looking so small?
This wasn’t what anyone could call a real home.
The place you brought me to wasn’t great, wasn’t domestic,
But you and that room had an air that made it easier to breathe,
Once I chose to replace my hollow sadness, and make you the center of my life.
We are two unfortunate people
Who learn to adapt, I think.
You could never be my family, ever,
… but I didn’t mean to let you think you could leave,
And remind me how much of lonely I’d forgotten,
Since slipping into our routine.
You weren’t my family until I lost you.
I’m sure the world laughed at us…
Finally,
The first time you do anything to make me hate you,
Is the first time I realize I can’t,
The first day I feel sick to my stomach in years,
As Magato reveals one of your secrets.
This is nothing like the first time,
When I managed to forget even my parent’s faces.
The new loss leaves our past few years shining
Stark against a black background in my empty head.
And all the hours since I cried next to your body
Have been dull gray in comparison.
I don’t think it’s a perfect fit for me, but I’m pretty sure
It’s the best one I have,
Taking that name and making your sword mine.
You’re still the only thing I own, even after death.
And we do look similar, with these empty eyes,
When we fight and shroud their pain and sadness in hostility.
Why didn’t you try and let me go?
When you knew I could kill you…
My anger feeds my soul, the way you taught me.
I would never have let you live, even when I clung tight.
But even knowing that, I don’t forgive you
For dying.
I hope I killed him, for taking what was mine.
My teacher, my goal, and my rage.
Even if your murderer did tell me the truth,
I might’ve lived better without it.
Why did you have to go and become my Protector, and try so hard to become my victim?
… I still wish your body could answer my questions.
Prompt 10: I didn't use the lyrics much, I just listened to the song and read it, then left it and started writing.
Character: Naoto
Disclaimer: Love it, but don't own it.
Note: I didn't do this in a formula or anything... it's more like Naoto's thoughts.
It’s not a home. It’s not a family.
It’s a single-minded life, her second one,
Each day with this man she hates.
I am not a girl, I am not a woman,
I am not a victim, I am not the member
Of a home, or a family,
I am no one who is loved.
I am a person with a blade who longs to kill someone,
To sink my steel in until it hits bone,
Everything darkens to red, and the metal and salt smell floods my nose.
I will fight until my skill has stolen the vibrations of the last heartbeat
From the body of the one who ended my first life.
Old man with the frustrated, angry eyes…
Don’t take care of me. Stop talking to me.
Just make me good enough to kill you.
I hate you!
Even though the site of you brought me back to life,
And awakened this growling part of me, that itches
To sink my new knife into your chest, and finally leak tears to mix with your blood.
Revenge, revenge, revenge
For taking me, keeping me, and confusing me
with your sad expression, and my name that makes me sick.
Why do you look at me with those eyes, like someone else’s face
Reflected in that ruined mirror.
You shouldn’t be the kind of person who saves me,
Or gives me a coat to hide my shame.
I like it better when you’re keeping secrets,
Or frowning while we go over new ways to kill you.
I always fight to kill, and I know you still smirk like it’s a good thing.
You’re too confusing.
I wish I wasn’t able to tell that your weathered face and weary, regretful, eyes
Sitting behind the cracks of the warped glass
Are completely different from those of your crazy rapist pupil.
I wish that day hadn’t shown me the way instincts react
To make nerves tingle around dangerous people,
The way mine never do around you, even that first day I charged at you,
Desperate for the chance to bite and cut at you till you bled,
More, much more, than my parents and I.
Neither of us expects much of a change, I think.
Because even though I see your real eyes sometimes, I still don’t feel at home,
And you never tell me the truth, even when I grew more comfortable here,
Or accustomed, anyway, and maybe afraid of change.
Now I think, ‘I’m able to kill you’, all those times you turn your back to me,
Though I can’t quite work up the nerve, with your shoulders slumped that way.
How will you fight back enough to sate my bloodlust,
Off-guard and unprepared, these last eight times,
With your backing looking so small?
This wasn’t what anyone could call a real home.
The place you brought me to wasn’t great, wasn’t domestic,
But you and that room had an air that made it easier to breathe,
Once I chose to replace my hollow sadness, and make you the center of my life.
We are two unfortunate people
Who learn to adapt, I think.
You could never be my family, ever,
… but I didn’t mean to let you think you could leave,
And remind me how much of lonely I’d forgotten,
Since slipping into our routine.
You weren’t my family until I lost you.
I’m sure the world laughed at us…
Finally,
The first time you do anything to make me hate you,
Is the first time I realize I can’t,
The first day I feel sick to my stomach in years,
As Magato reveals one of your secrets.
This is nothing like the first time,
When I managed to forget even my parent’s faces.
The new loss leaves our past few years shining
Stark against a black background in my empty head.
And all the hours since I cried next to your body
Have been dull gray in comparison.
I don’t think it’s a perfect fit for me, but I’m pretty sure
It’s the best one I have,
Taking that name and making your sword mine.
You’re still the only thing I own, even after death.
And we do look similar, with these empty eyes,
When we fight and shroud their pain and sadness in hostility.
Why didn’t you try and let me go?
When you knew I could kill you…
My anger feeds my soul, the way you taught me.
I would never have let you live, even when I clung tight.
But even knowing that, I don’t forgive you
For dying.
I hope I killed him, for taking what was mine.
My teacher, my goal, and my rage.
Even if your murderer did tell me the truth,
I might’ve lived better without it.
Why did you have to go and become my Protector, and try so hard to become my victim?
… I still wish your body could answer my questions.