Hellsing. "He was alone. All alone in this world. And he can't even hope that this will change. Avaricious tear of the immortal on his absolutely equal and passionless white skin went a wet red path. Blood here was absorbed in his skin. He has sighed deeply. "
Это новый вариант стихотворения. Публикую его начисто, вместо старого, а не просто редактирую, поскольку оно очень сильно отличается от первоначального варианта.