A reflection of Shields and Broken Armour

5/26/29 An on-going war with yourself.

Flesh that lies beneath their clothes is rubbed raw 

As if it was scraped to the core underneath his fragile skin 

As if it was chewed and swallowed just to be digested and then regurgitated 

A silver blockade of shields and broken armor is piled on the floor 

As if it has met ends with a sword that had sliced through his bones 

The blood drips down his arms and onto the thin blades of grass

As if the Earth was craving the rivers that gush through his veins

Clashing sounds of metal are screaming while the air is stilled 

A ringing fills ahead and the whole world is a muted empire 

Gravity saves him, as a sharp edged object from his hand falls to the cold floor

His stinging eyes are held tightly shut. 

Silence. 

A statue becomes of him..

... He leans down and grips the sharp piece of glass firmly and looks down at his wet hand 

A reflection glares back, 

Squinting made it seems as if there was a war inside those light green eyes,

Blood drips down his arms and over the palms of his hands

While the scraping sound of metal against metal is reborn

More blood. 

More screams. 

The sharp reflected object descends toward the floor

His knees cave and then his core,

While his right cheek stands peremptorily positioned against the freezing tile.

Burnt arms facing upwards, legs languished.

A reflection of those light green eyes flickered in intervals while his heartbeat left his feeble body.