Collision clashes within me and I might’ve grown fond of the war because none/nothing/nobody would stay when the war ended if not crumbled ruins and collapsed homes.
And all that is left, a growing hole-shaped scar on my chest (do you want to consume my heart again as a whole?)
And lest my bones weep blood, I hope nobody will tend the wounds. Even the finest porcelain could break and wouldn’t go back as it was before.
I fell in love with the war I’ve swore to destroy. (I was supposed to be the knight in shining armor to save the world, still, why couldn’t I bring myself salvation?)
N, January 2023.
