For The Aimless Travellers
You hurt because you let it. The steel heart collapses the lung. Breath struggled on still, and your feet ache but travel forward. You pick the dust from your teeth every time. Each itch tells a story. Broken glass around the trash, you walk on it. It never cuts. You are too calloused for it to. Armor. Shield. Your eyes. Shell home travels not on your back but in your heart's steel locker. Nobody gets in. You prefer it that way. You'll only travel away. No need for goodbyes then, or tears, or regrets. Carry on my wayward son.