Talk:Ken Kaneki/@comment-25954030-20151122195817

The water run red,

the memories of endless dread.

The white figure of power and coldness,

the black figure of warmth and kindness.

Both melt away in the bloody river,

for a proper existence they failed to deliver.

From the their swirling memories of love and pain,

rises a Red Child no longer bound by chain.

Well, my inner poet just took control again. Sorry about that.