I hate the air

But no one will care

My lungs are trying

While my mind is dying

To scream

To extinguish the flames

And seize the ruffled manes

of a lion hearted

Dearly departed




But she is too far gone,

no Hercules could drag her

from the river of souls

Hot like coals

your fingers will burn

from trying to turn

the gears that stopped

So many years

before we met

Armadas gone and yet

more to come.

What is it you see

On this battlefield

when those ghosts flee

The sword I wield,

a tattered shield,

a soldier?

Don’t patronize me

I’m not your saint

Or anyone else’s.

I’d just like to paint

you a mask

so grotesquely beautiful

that while seeing

this terror

somehow in ‘my error’

you will forget this woe

to features divine

which the pigment

does intertwine

eerily well.



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