Of Blood and Ink

I've met a boy
between the pages of a book
where the last true people live
their lives
marked as
delusions and lies

I've met a boy there
in a land of thoughts and pains
he carried his soul
ghostly and gray
embraced by flesh of ink and blood
a spirit in a cage of black and red
painted by silvered ash
and iron-steel

I've met a boy made of parchment
and stabbing pain behind my eyes
and somehow he is dear to me
like a jewel in my
collection of fantasy
though I know
many call him cruel
evil and rude
no morals, no noble law
never hero
far from it
a vow breaker
dirty killer
tricky cheater
and a heart without a soul

but I also see raw clear honesty
of a human being
bleeding his truth
from thousands open wounds
closed but never healed 

aren't we all more or less
like that boy I've met
between the pages of a book?