carefully, diligently (foolishly,
maybe, but always worthwhile) does he build
walls. smooth, stone walls- do they stand tall? he says:
yes, indeed, but they shall be taller still.
and, of course, they are thicker and stronger
(and more, more, and more, heaping upon him
until he is sure he cannot bear it)
than any other- they have to be so.
surely, they will close around him. they do;
obscuring him from stabs of (familiar,
human, delectable) pain and feeling,
so that nothing may rip his sure visage.
Author's Note: So, was I wrong in submitting it? You tell me, folks. I'm totally not just squandering your time for the wordcount right now....
smooth, stone-wall visage by Stubbornly_appeared
Chapter Notes: I wrote this poem some time ago, actually. It's been moldering in my 'most recently edited files' list for a while, so I reread and re-edited it and decided to submit it.