fighting the good fight

worn armor
and dull blade,
his hands rough
with regret.
his helm slumps
over his eyes,
and his sight
cannot see.
the battle before
him disguised
but fought...
fiercely.
he's withered
and weary,
he's blistered
and dreary,
he keeps his weapon
pointed.
at my chest.
one step forward,
and,
in
defense,
he
empales
my
love a fiery
red.
drops to he ground,
his helm and shield
heavy.
gasping tight his chest.
he destroyed me.
he didn't know
his desire.
till i spread it
all over the ground
in
spurts
of
death,
drenched in shock.
i
die.
he cries.
he dries his eyes.
picks up his armor
and drags his sword,
tip in the ground.
he screams aloud
to the sky,
on deaf ears.
with no response,
he bandages his heart
with blood soaked sweat.
reinforces his armor.
and goes on,
fighting the good fight.