Portrait of....

Deceitful, he's an evil little machine.

Pure darkness resides within, black is the color of the output.

A liquid, dark as night and darker still pours from his center.

His thoughts are of murder, of slain thousands, his thoughts are gruesome.

He thinks of others like himself, with bites taken from them, bites in the shape of his own mouth.

He imagines eating others alive, hurting them as they hurt him.

He is disgusting, filled with sickness and death.

He was born this way, and so were all others like him.

He is my heart, and he is desperately wicked.

But

A drop of clear liquid falls into his input valve

and turns

a small part of him

to gold.

There is hope for my evil heart.

There is always hope.