Cloaked in words of armoured steel,
you parry and thrust with your ink
he, she, her..me
the silly crowd gathers and chortles with glee
as finally you draw blood and turn
to accept whatever form of imagined glory
that lies tattered at your feet
Your armour keeps you safe you think
as you watch those mortal wounds
drain all that was ever left of love
For an instant though the crowd is stilled
the visor lifts and you turn
with inevitable despair
to see the tarnished reflection
wounded one is in fact
not me
or she..or he
but that of a lonely
reflected image which leers
silently back at you
smeared and tarnished
drained
of all that was left of love
