britannia

My heart beats a joyous thump

upon the thought of that pathetic man.

What my world tried to pack inside

never truly fit, did it?

I go day-by-day,

leaving his footprints infront of mine.

All paths lead to that high-rise

which I climb frantically.

Glass cuts my fingers

and my ankles feel heavy,

burdened with rejects,

But I form that trail.

It was set when my eyes first saw

the dullness in his.

Molded strength from deep black

molded me swollen.

Upon that sandy hill

I see him, half-sunk in stillness.

The epitome of fragility I may be,

you cannot exist.

Blabbering clansmen fall silent

and blood coats my home.

Yet above all, you mock the structure of me.

So, when I see no half-melted mantra

but a martyr of red stains

I realise with glass-like clarity that you

forgot to post this earlier