You told me that in the end love conquered all
That you would lift me and breathe back meaning into my existance.
I was safe in knowing that the armour I wore for protection
Was taken from your own back
As assured only as I had believed.
A slight juxtaposition that I had captured,
for when you cursed me
It was from the knife pointing at your own chest
When you commended me you believed the knife was warranted.
Yet it wasn’t.
You saw beneath the surface of fragile glass
A captive wing
That echoed your meaning of existance to fight for freedom
Yet enrapturing itself
In your control
To beckon at your very whim.
You carried my burden with resentment
As I leaned on every word
Seeing only the lies I had told myself
Oh So desperate to please
Yet at the costly detriment of my own heart.
Fell so crushingly bare before you
Awaiting to be lifted again in your plight
Not realising I had to gain wings of my own.
So, do I cling to the hope that it were ever a possibility to fly?
Or am I just as foolish to know your wings were as broken as my own.