You, in which I mean you all, Precedent halcyons, previous dynasties. You, whom have fallen From the wretched graces of our (once) love. My courage is fierce, white and hot. And yet You all falter, you all live and fly, wither In the flames of sacrifice. You fly on hallowed wings When the spear of fear strikes. (I know what it’s like, but at least I try.) I died in the flames every time. Every time. Every single time. Every fucking single time, I die, Nothing happens, there is no suffering to be heard, No toll of the death bell, No clatter of hooves from a broken hearse, No crash of dissonance from Schoenberg, Aside from mine. You don’t have determination. (I don’t either, but I have courage, a tiger of it even, burning not bright, but burning nonetheless.) After you, fallen ones, there is no obstacle I cannot overcome, splice to visceral shreds like cutting veins with a scimitar. The pipes in me play a new tune, One that says, ‘It was within you all along. It is a useless search to find it in others.’