#pencap

so burn your bridges, warrior child,

before someone else lights them up

so freeze your heart, war-torn child,

before someone else leaves it cold

so dig your grave, war-born child,

before someone else buries you

— but I guess I was never much of a writer ( j.p. )

“Please, let him be soft.

I know you made him     with gunmetal bones     and wolf’s teeth. I know you made him to be     a warrior     a soldier     a hero.

But even gunmetal can warp and even wolf’s teeth can dull and I do not want to see him break the way old and worn and overused things do.

I do not want to see him go up in flames     the way all heroes end up martyrs.

I know that you will tell me that the world needs him. The world needs his heart     and his faith     and his courage     and his strength     and his bones and his teeth and his blood and his voice and his– The world needs anything he will give them.

Damn the world,     and damn you too. Damn anyone that ever asked anything of him,     damn anyone that ever took anything from him,           damn anyone that ever prayed to his name. You know that he will give them everything     until there is nothing left of him         but the imprint of dust              where his feet once trod. You know that he will bear the world like Atlas    until his shoulders collapse         and his knees buckle              and he is crushed by all he used to carry.

Dear God, you have already made an Atlas. You have already made an Achilles and an Icarus and a Hercules. You have already made so many heroes, and you can make another again. You can have your pick of heroes.

So please, I beg you– he is all that I have, and you have so many heroes and the world has so many more. Let him be soft, and let him be mine.”

you are a serpent parading as a white knight and i am the maiden who knows better and falls anyway you are the master to my puppet strings but you don’t feel like a master and these don’t feel like strings is this what love is in the wake of devastation?

ACT II

this love was just beginning to bloom  this love still lives in the aftermath of your destruction i don’t want it to, yet it survives; an aching, somber thing in my chest it must be real. nothing else carves a soul hollow like love.

but it is not as heavy as my rage, an unsettled storm, the ocean before a flood you once said we were similar, you and i you may grow to regret that comparison. you will. i will make sure of it.