I see the way you move into the light,
hoping it would catch your best side.
Do you still have one?

Your armor is a substitute for a backbone.

Without it,
your convictions crumble,
and you sink lower than the dirt beneath my feet.

Power granted by your costume
comforted you more than any of us could.
The sins you commit against us
twisted into misdeeds against you.

With your once true tragedies,
you lie until your honor is restored
by the integrity of people
who still believe the chivalry you perform.

You don't want to heal.

You’re in love with your gilded reflection.
A distortion meant to flatter you and invite sympathy.
You fear any admission of your weaknesses
and fortify your false strength with flimsy lies.

Make me the villain in your journey:
There’s no honor in your heroism.

When I live free of your covert tyranny,
you’ll scream you’re better off than me.
As your threats echo in this lonely exoskeleton,
will you finally realize that this beautiful prison
is your only meaningful creation?

I know you won’t.

Gold suits a malleable man.

A pathetic man who earned apathetic me.