Tales of A Conquered Warrior

Beside myself I stand watching.
What was this you said we had?
You called it passion once.
I remember feeling fingertips in the exchange for my innocence.
Tell me what I have done can be removed from the pages of the unfinished book.
How can you speak with your tongue twisted around lies powerful enough to bring this body to the dirt?
I can smell morning and somehow I survived midnight’s unflinching grip on my neck.
Did you command the darkness to swallow? Or was it me? Simply standing there, refusing to lift a hand in the presence of the memory of what could have been?
I am empty these days.

Where were you when tears meant this heart’s walls had been breeched?
You knew all along?
The seer of truth kept secrets.
I meant no more to you than the ones before.
How foolish this boy was!

Did this conquest matter?
Your begging hands satisfied?
When you clung to the flesh of the soul of the being that was solid and real?
I suppose the aspects of the thing that I called me, myself, are without definition now.
That which was whole is now scattered.
I am shadow without name.
I am dawn masked by the thunderous realization that the land will flood again.
These are the things I have become without you.