Poetry is all about rewriting.
Chasing, breaking, building, loathing.
Scratching stanzas, starting over.
Just breathe again, take it slower.

I'd do anything to keep you warm.
Breaking, building, loathing, loving.
Even when your mind is at constant war,
If it came to me, you'd come to no harm.

Am I the one being washed away?
Building, loathing, loving breathing,
And loving to love you.
Even when I'd go in your steed and die,
I'd die over and over to keep your dread at bay.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Phaestian, in the year 949 AF.