Sometimes I wake up in daze, feeling like she left me in a maze, breathing deep to avoid the craze that threatens to creep in when I wake up like this.
Where forth are the warmth from her arms, I’m missing her morning stretches, her private idiosyncrasies. With blinders on, I fought valiantly, her heart was my direction; making her happy, my duty without objection; her smile my confection; craving her touch my affliction.
One day, I became a weak warrior, bleeding from the wound of my love’s dagger. I knew she didn’t mean it, so I pleaded for her to fix it. My tears burned hotter than lava where I knew only her kiss would make it better. With my arms outstretched, I prayed that she would reach down and help me up…just this one time, I had fallen so hard, reassurance was all I needed to make it stop.
I cried for eternity, all my organs seemed to join in the ceremony, love painfully sliding away from me. I cried so hard my warhorse blinders started slipping, with eyes wide open, I could see for ALL I was fighting; her pedestial still in place, as her tears wreaked havoc on my face. I know she didn’t mean it, but I couldn’t accept anymore, not with my wounds and my heart still so sore, and so I became an even weaker warrior, hell I stopped fighting all together, why bother, when I needed her and it didn’t matter.
I am an old warhorse now, my fighting times are done…no more pedestializing, in this war, pain has won. In moments like these, waking up in a daze, where she left me in the maze, all I have are wartime memories who with tears in my eyes, still puts a smile on my face.
I fight no more, I pedestialize no one. The pedestial seems to be the safest place, so it is up there I stand.