In response to a certain poem I found and read called "The Hero" I figured that I would write what I know about...

"The Villian"

He knows full well why he does what he does
If you ask him he'll tell you his every cause
Hate, fear and loathing are his ways
A smiling face is the torment of his days

You were wrong about the strength that he holds
Pain has turned his heart coldest of colds
He's a juxtaposition of hate and love
He knows the secrets of Hell and the Heavens above
He wants the second, but lives the first
Everyday he relives his hellish rebirth

A different kind of strength gets him through the day
Secrets, longing, hate and love are his way

He hates himself and all that he is
But sees nothing but light in those he calls friends
Those are the kinds of people he wants to be,
The secret to his hate and his hanger is jealous envy
He can't fix what he is, or what to become
He feels his hopeless, and there's no will to fight
He turns it all against himself every lonely night.

He doesn't know what he's destined to be
I should know because this villian is me.