To Bear The Brunt Of Many Blades

Nothing that breathes is above betrayal.

Nothing that breathes is divine.

-

Out from the shadows, well-wisher.

The gleam of your blade gives you away.

Drawn from me, my smiling assassin,

Meet the blood that moved you-

The blood of encouragement

Spilling as common water.

They will serve you...

Long live the king.

Soak up to your arms in his blood.

Long live the king;

They will serve you well.

And you loyal friend, leave an ice pick in my neck as it were mine to keep.

How terribly cold.

-

I breathe, and count my shallow breaths.

Add another edge: Be sure to twist the blade.

If come one, come all of this, a celebration of treachery and scissored flesh.

Fall in, stain your steel in festive red-

Here, where the sheep are butchers.

A fresh patch of skin to pierce,

One cannot resist.

-

Unsteady steps.

Each waning, determined for purchase.

I am he who falters, stricken with one thousand blades.

With unsteady steps, I find my balance in deception.

Step by burning step.

Warm in the presence of malice.

Barefoot among a skulk of men.

Eyes ahead and taller still,

I never look back.

No.

I knew not your names.

I knew your numbers.

I knew you all too well.

-

Two blades for every inch of flesh.

Ensanguined.

This is that which did not kill me.

There's always room for one more blade...

Not much a sight for sore eyes,

The harrowed form of living will:

Bent,

And black,

And so terribly cold.

There's always strength for one last breath.