You built yourself out of steal and gold, so cold. Glorious light would glint off the sword forged within the fire of your own heart and no one dared to question your strength.
You always found some way to keep going. It never mattered if the foe was a friend or a stranger. Even through your knotted guts, shaking hands, weakened knees; you never stumbled and they all cheered when your blade struck true.
But it came crashing down one day and all those wounds you’d ignored were infected and bleeding through the armor crafted to keep the world shut out. Your beautiful sword breaks and tears jump into your eyes, begging to be felt. Encircled by the screaming fanatics, you can’t ask for help; they cannot be allowed the truth of your delicate flesh beneath a perfect shell.
Black spots come into vision, you’re finding it difficult to lift this heavy metallic cage; you are trapped.
Here you see an endless vision of backs turned, surrounding you in isolated support, awaiting your power to entertain one more time.
You didn’t tell anyone doom was catching to your heels. They don’t know how deep Death bows when he greets you with a tired smile. Poisoned by grace and abandoned by love. You are crying when you take his hand.
Why didn’t you tell them?
They were right there.