In this war of who can hide their souls most efficiently,  I willingly lay down my sword, and rest my body on the ground preparing for death. I will never fight to cover my heart's own eyes. As ridiculous as I feel with blood spilling from the open wound in my chest, so easily giving up the crown.  I'm willing to suffer through extreme literal heart ache for you to see what I am made of. If you let me die at the edge of your own sword, then, at that very moment I know that you were the Achilles heel in this war on love.