S
Saera
Guest
A crumpled piece of paper has been smoothed out, as if someone had found it and thought this the most appropriate place to put it.
Give me an armor for my heart and I'll give it to you.
Give me a way back, a way out, a way to say it didn't happen and I'll do it.
No resurrect spells work, that much I know, and if it dies, it's dead,
And if it's torn there's nothing arcane or divine can fix it.
It heals on its own or not at all.
Reincarnated maybe, maybe someday to come back in a new form,
Till then a putrifying mass poisoning all around it
Or maybe petrified to stone, heaviness weighing one down,
Or gone completely, empty, hollow, shell-like person left behind.
There's no protection if I give it you.
Others had pieces but to you I need to give it whole,
Pulling it from them, ripping holes in their own hearts if they were fools enough to store it there.
I take it back from them, patchwork the pieces back in place,
Deny them all, **** crowing thrice, and still deny,
And after that there's no return, no pieces to regenerate the rest.
They don't miss it yet, the spell's not done and still can be revoked.
The heart floats, complete but incomplete, theoretical,
Waiting for the words that bind the spell, that make it real,
The ones that others use to form illusions but that's not my gift.
I make things real and so the words don't make a rosy light for me,
They solidify the light instead into a beating lump of bloody flesh, easy to kill.
Take it.
======================================================
*mutters an unfiltered oath to the effect that "rooster" just won't do*
Give me an armor for my heart and I'll give it to you.
Give me a way back, a way out, a way to say it didn't happen and I'll do it.
No resurrect spells work, that much I know, and if it dies, it's dead,
And if it's torn there's nothing arcane or divine can fix it.
It heals on its own or not at all.
Reincarnated maybe, maybe someday to come back in a new form,
Till then a putrifying mass poisoning all around it
Or maybe petrified to stone, heaviness weighing one down,
Or gone completely, empty, hollow, shell-like person left behind.
There's no protection if I give it you.
Others had pieces but to you I need to give it whole,
Pulling it from them, ripping holes in their own hearts if they were fools enough to store it there.
I take it back from them, patchwork the pieces back in place,
Deny them all, **** crowing thrice, and still deny,
And after that there's no return, no pieces to regenerate the rest.
They don't miss it yet, the spell's not done and still can be revoked.
The heart floats, complete but incomplete, theoretical,
Waiting for the words that bind the spell, that make it real,
The ones that others use to form illusions but that's not my gift.
I make things real and so the words don't make a rosy light for me,
They solidify the light instead into a beating lump of bloody flesh, easy to kill.
Take it.
======================================================
*mutters an unfiltered oath to the effect that "rooster" just won't do*
