Weakness

Weakness is the shallow bruises

Pale beneath the facade of your character;

It is in the way the cruel smirk you wear

Cannot hide beneath your tears

And the way it stretched uncontrolled, manically thin

When you hurt me

And weakness is the depth of your soul

Unable to carry the wisp of truth

The bead of warmth and empathetic heart

It is the breadth of which you are spread very thin

With very little but a trail of blood 

Painted across the sky and clouds shaped like angels

It is the way that all soft fruit go to rot;

Fallen trunks burnt away by age and forgotten valor

And maggots crawl the world blind;

It is that you have given little but taken too much

The stakes put out by graves of your victories

Are scratched in a three-page book

Weakness is the laugh and haughty voice in which you spoke

About twisting words to naught, knots

The pride that accompanies the permanent dead glint

Smile pressed to cruelty 

Weakness is the apologies that were never spoken

That died in the lightning strike of your ego

That shaped blame in the form of victimhood;

Weakness is being blind to the absent core

Of who you are and not plucking the weeds

Before they became thorns

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