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The classic tale Centuries-old
through self-owned reliance
a hero rises from the cold
But Within these chapters carefully hidden
Upon the pages where this story is written
Between the lines is the story untold
Of the acts of love
by the willfully forfeited soul

Born a sacrifice
Meant to be consumed
A life never lived
Born to be used
Created as a vessel 
To hold an elixir of love 
Collected from the wounds
of Shredded palms
That rest in the hands 
refusing gloves

Dripping now is the nurturer's light
flowing into the mouths
Of the ones emptied of fight
Stricken By hunger
And ready to die
Now Fully replenished
And brought back to life
They begin to Forge fables
Of a strength they found inside
And rising from the ashes
Upon the pedestal, they climb
The sacrifice forgotten
Lost within a selfish mind

In the chest of the sacrifice
Cruelly rests the hero's knife
The selfless lover
Cursed to survive 
the bearer of breaths
who mended their bones
And stitched their flesh
Born to forgive
Gifted madness
In order to live 

Upon the light to balance the world they feast 
From the chalice holding the elixir they drink 
Born a sacrifice 
Through empathetic eyes they see 
Those born an empath
Once called eaters of sin
Ache from your pain 
Without wearing your skin
Feel your soul
Without wearing your shoes
Takes on your shame
Carries your abuse
For your freedom they lovingly give
Every morsel of what makes them, them

A Century-old book bleeds a tale         
Upon pages forever soaked 
from the carvings of the sharpest quell
In Blood, a love story is wrote
Hidden between the lines dwells
The words ceasing to bespoke
Of the giver who always gave
And the hero who only took

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