Battlegrounds

But they don’t warn you that perhaps after you’ve walked your thousand miles, perhaps all you find there, all that’s waiting for you on the other side, is a broken mirror: your horrified face, staring at you, calling you a waste of life.
Words fly around in your little head like armed butterflies, with swords; you can’t catch them but they won’t let you be… poking holes in the corners of your brain, drawing blood, bathing in your blood.
Victorious drunk lascivious soldier butterflies, singing their war songs, fucking their queen, claiming your lands.
Hide from people with me today, under a kitchen table, at the center of the universe. We’ll see their feet moving hastily, orbiting us. We’ll be their sun, but they won’t know it.
Be the Greeks to my Troy, demolish me, fool me once, twice, thrice: the shame will always be on me.
I won’t be your victim, we’ll do it in unity; it’s kindness.
It’s kindness to unbuild when your only construction is debris.
We’ll be the heroes of our time; we’ll be the martyrs of self-destruction. Our statues will wear scars.
We will be a stain. A glorified stain on an ancient history book that no one reads.
But I will love you, and I won’t loathe me, and we won’t break hearts.
We won’t break hearts.

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