My last breath.
I’ m walking, and with every step there is a riddle in my head. Will I slay my dragon and put it to rest. Or will it take the first step and take my last breath. And with every step its there breeding down my neck. I can’t take control, can’t escape because the dragon is in my head. It’s a part of every step. How will I get rid of it, put a gun to my head and pull the trigger? So the riddle would leak out of my head and flow into a puddle of red. The dragon would be death and my hart wouldn’t pound in my chest. It would have gone to rest, I would never again take the next step. My body would turn cold, my bones would turn to stone. My soul would swerve out and flow. My ghost would burn in hell. There I’ll be, there at the lands end. There where the light fades out and the colours fade to black. That, that would be my end, my death. But I am not made. I am not gone because I still believe in love. I still need that. I need to dream and hope with the rest. That is the only thing keeping me sane. Now I need to find a blade within. A sword that I can drive in the dragons chest. And let the remains flow true my veins so it could never become whole again. So it never could take control again. And if it did it would drive me made. And yes the dragon would take my last breath.