A Phantom of the Opera (attempted to condense it)

He recalls while he sits, Alone in a chair,
Nailed to the ground in frusturation.
He recalls, His love, Christine  -  his heart, his song:

She was still the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.

    He is reminded as he watches
Her kiss the long haired fellow.The cad, that ass, that charming snake fellow
who’d inherited everything his wonderful Christine had been given…
                              By Him.        Blast!
He never should have let her go.

What was he to do without her!?
  What sort of life was it to watch from afar?
      What pleasure to his flesh would ever commence, If that rogue had his every reason for being in his arms?
What was he, a man who had killed many, to do?

The Phantom sighed.
To sing, he had no desire as he rose from his seat.
His fingers curled into a fist and eyes as black as marble beads
    Narrowed…              “I never should have let her go.”

How foolish he had been to see only what she wanted:
To see only what she begged for: And not what he deserved.

How dare he let one kiss daunt him - one touch haunt him,    like never before.

How dare he feel the need to build a home at sea
In order to watch his angel do those naughty little deeds
That made his heart melt. And burn…

But he was tired of watching, and tired of waiting.
Tired of deceiving himself into believing she might come back.
And he was most wary as he hoped she might soon despise the light
  wish for him and his blessing again and be his music to the night.

But whatever the case may soon to be:
The Phantom of the Opera had a need.
And there would be  no more waiting.