Most days I am too gentle for the violence of living.
Rust red droplets felt so vicotorious at the time-- Envisioning valor.
Mount Olympus eruption at my herosim.
Serenity in adrenaline.

Until the fibers of my tissue struggle back together in holy matrimony, begging for salvation from a drugstore razor blade.

There is no honor in waging wars against your own flesh,
and I am no Athena.