Diseased

The sickness consumes me, dragging me down into its pit of woe.

I am so tired, my wounds not healing like they should, my strength ebbing with every blow. How long I can go on like this, I have no clue- my blade is rusted, my spirit weathered, covered in skin that peels and just won't heal.

Yet I cannot rest, must continue the fight, must not let the enemy know they have struck me to the very core.

Shield broken.

Heat battered.

And no one to rescue me but myself....

Insanity

Beautifully Broken

He is like a calm breeze before the storm, exploding without warning into a tsunami and sweeping everyone in his path up with him- he is creation and destruction, sweetness and sorrow.

And foolishly I have fallen.

He has caused these wings to sprout, giving me flight, yet they become heavy with his apathy, his dark bitterness consuming the very air around me. I want back the days he spoke of cherry blossoms and conquest, when he spoke of his rage against his enemies- anything save for his apathy. His coldness wounds me, his alluding to the "irrelevance" of my care a spear to my soul.

My heart so foolish, my head so illogical.

This is why I remain beautifully broken.