I am dressed in iron. Layers of it.
Sweat and blood mingling with tears.
And it rusts.
And erodes.
And crumbles.
And soon, my strong persona
Will be gone.
Or maybe it already is?
I've tried so hard to care for my armor,
But everything decays after a while.
I am exposed.
My fragile body is bare now,
And this glass figurine is crying.
She wants to be wrapped in steel this time. Titanium.
That way, she won't break as easily.
And her tears will no longer clatter on the floor,
Shattering into bright little stars.
They don't deserve to be stars.
They are dull.
She may hurt, but her tears are empty.
She has no tears left.
She gave those away too long ago, and they were lost.
And they were bright.
Wasted.
And she wants to be covered in molasses.
Maybe then, when she finds her tears again,
They will stick to her, and never leave.
Maybe she could use them again.
Reduce Reuse Recycle.
She could save her world, and allow
Other pains
To sleep there.
Absorb them from the creatures
She talks to daily.
Hiding them in her iron.
Steel.
Titanium.
Molasses.
Anything is better than
Glass.