a folded scrap of paper

I can feel it building, a cyst of madness in my soul, I see my reflection in the window and open my mouth in a silent scream.
Years and years of lost love and hardened hearts leading to the dark reflection of you and me.
Medicate the beast, keep it sated and numb so it can't see the bar-less cage.
The finest cuisine turns to ash, the wind carries night-blooming jasmine and it does not stir me.
I needed this, the armor, I was not wrong when I forged and it and I was justified to put it on.
The war is over and all the soldiers have been put back in their box, yet here I stand, alone on the battlefield.
The armor won't come off and I scream in desperation, thrashing and pulling but the breastplate still holds.
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