Corroder
Breaking down.
"I will not make the bars of my own prison,"
I mutter quietly to myself
As I smith iron into cylinder rods
Obedient, placid, and diligent
The heat of the forge renders me tired,
and the apron wears heavy
I rest my body in a pool of acid
languishing in its cold burning
The edges of my flesh are eaten away
cell by miserable cell
as my flesh gives way, reduced
to muscle, and then to bone
A withered wrist weaves arcane
Once more, I awake
Back to my anvil, apron, iron
as my cells give way to my cell
The illustration at the top of this poem is by VW. You should absolutely follow him on Tumblr, he's a delight. Also consider commissioning him for artwork, if you can; he was great to work with on this piece.
In the meantime, take care of yourselves. Too many of us are struggling right now. Fight back against that where you can. Keep your head high, your spirits up, and your bars broken.
