Armor of iron in the stubborn.
Trapped in sticks, twigs & leaves.
Protecting a beautiful slumberer.

On the top of the tree, he’s
Laying down on heaven clouds.
With other’s observing.
arrows pointed on the flying’s head,
but he’s still dreaming on the rose thorns.

Crown on his head ripping his heart appart.
Tearing his eyes, converting his tears to water.
Bottled up in glass jars, under the blue moon’s lights.
With mud on my face, slowly fading away, on my dead bird’s nest.
© Blue walls