Analysis of Thanatos

I look upon this man before me.
         Happiness in his stone face? Not one bit.
Only to be hated, mocked, all that stuff.
         For surely, this creature, deserves it?

They call him, Thanatos,
         A demon.
For he is but silent, savage, scarred.
         A man of nothing.

He stares at me, blue eyes locked.
         Demon!
Who knows nothing.
          But pain.
For all see him the same way.

He pleas, a cry, so
         Soft, sentient , scarred.
Weeps,
         For he knows only,
         Pain.

Red stains on his hands,
         Unwillingly. He himself commanded.
To be hateful of all,
         Unwillingly. He himself demanded.
To know freedom, friendship, love, joy.
         Unwillingly. He himself refuses.
To end it now?
         Unwillingly. He himself, chooses…