Warrior Torn

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story in poetic form, riddles of love and strife..

Submitted: April 17, 2012

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Submitted: April 17, 2012




 It wasn’t my desire to watch him go. He left me no choice. That man.. Sometimes I sit in bed, before the rays warm the empty space beside me, and think about those last few days. I think about the smell of his skin – so perfectly flawed by the choices he’s made. Heat radiating from that body would only ever wrap me with his arms on the coldest of winter’s nights that fear crept into his heart, and nightmares into his head.  I think about the scrape of his beard as he spoke with trembling lips about the images he had witnessed – and I still shiver.

Wounded, he was anything but weak. My warrior, my lover, my beast.


He promised me many things, and of them all I remember only, “I’ll leave you worse for ware, before I take my leave, if for no other reason than to make you remember me”. It was a solemn tone he used when he spoke these words to me, but the sadness in his eyes confessed of vows that he only wished he could keep. All those of standing, forever, beside me. They were just wishes and dreams that he wasn’t allowed to keep. Tugging at his soul was his weighty destiny, and he knew he would make promises of this variety many times over still. I fought to ignore knowing I would not be his only love. I deluded myself into hoping, instead, I would be his most severe and prized love. Delusions are quite sweet, when they’re strong.

I’ve never loved another with the strength, and the weakness, he drew from me.


 And, I could not fix what he wouldn’t let me see. Hypocritical of me, I realize. I, however, never asked to be healed of my victims view. I wanted to treat him, to lovingly clean his wounds and stitch them with my memories of endless servitude, disguised as love. He simply watched my nimble fingers dig into too deep, past the claws which had dislodged just after boring into him. He fought off the screams, my blue eyes never leaving his face as my hand, wrist, and forearm were painted red. The color of the God’s.. And, he never once moaned for their forgiveness, nor their aide. He trusted the need in my sickness, and only lost his consciousness when I bore my teeth into his tender flesh.

The poison would sink in…And I would be the failure, for love is not so sterile as hatred.


When he lost his way, I stood at his back and directed from a past that held no experience of his particular path. And so in his labyrinth we became ever so lost. Frustration only painted his face when I bore into him for leading us astray and cursing the restraints his leading placed me in. He, after all, could see things which from over his shoulder I had no clue existed. His snarl taunted me, rather than commanded my silence. I was never one to listen, and obey. There on his path, if he ever chooses to look back, there will be mine, and his, blood. The ground compacted from our bodies, scars upon the foliage from failed aim, and that rubied snitch will talk of moments either of us will forever try to forget. He will not, and forever punish himself. I will do my best to try- when I have need of his face to be angelic. And, when I wish to illuminate him as the demon he believes himself to be, I will re-caste the mold and so he shall be.


I am none too proud, though desperate.. And, guilt will bring him back to me.


He is savage, and can never truly be contained. I knew this, without knowing, and decided that I would capture him all the same. He would be my love, and I would be his only. We would banter, we would fight, but in the darkness of the night.. We would be. And I claimed, unto myself, this was all I would need. Bliss, and strife, bathed in obsessive love. I believed he could give me that, and more, if I only found the key to unlock that door. I did not realize then, once some doors are open… there is no way to close them. And often times what is behind them is distorted by the eyes that view their treasures.  Unlocked, unbarred, and unrestrained, he was never so unguarded as when he were before me. And, the weakness in him.. it tore through me. I know now, as I should have then, I was his biggest mistake.


Apologies and forgiveness aside, no knowledge can be unknown once inside.

And, my monster – the warrior, the lover, and the beast – will forever haunt me. The scarred still bleed.

© Copyright 2018 JadAtHrt. All rights reserved.

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