More then bruised, more then battered
She left this one with scratched lens
All he could see in himself was her reactions
The sigh as she looked him up and down
But these made him forget the fundamentals
That in life the quality of the self has little bearing
On the eyes people use to gaze at you
It’s how you wear the threads life deals you

It’s a Saturday eve at the gathering place
The gale obeys his order and bursts the door open
Each step, each passing glare creeping below sunken brows
A flare signalizing his presence
Cementing his right to occupy this space
With the artists, the models, the glamours, the glyphs
But did he really do anything to elevate himself here?
Or did his body decree it? And we all choose to listen

The slime starts to melt and the clay starts to petrify
He’s collected every fragment of what he’s lost
The looks and chatter start to matter again
When you discard the means to their appearance
He’s a titan, he’s become his own goddess
And if the world is blind to that grace
He’s taken the clerics responsibility
To make his appearances an event once more

While they chase the marble clad faceless idols
You remove the mask and wear the cracks like jewellery
No façade, your a damaged vessel
But you move through Midgard as any force would
You’re not an example of defeat, but of adversity
If you stand here any one of us could

Anything you see me as is a part of the trick
But I’ll take a lie as a means to inspire
Like all Nephilim I exist in betwixt and between
I’ll shine brighter and justify my placement in your stories

—————————————————————-

This poem was written to be preformed by a trio as followed:
Female
Female
Male

Lnc0