Chivalry An Art...

He wished not to drag her down the road that trepidation has Build for him.

He wore his tattoos like body armor perhaps to cover the scars left from the life of a less desirable memory.

Limestone casings thrown about the floor like thermite filled skeletons, nothing’s coming back to the door.

Even if you could get him to speak, you wouldn’t get in.

Flourished words brandishing the entrance, it’s getting hard to breathe again, the polish that he uses still polluting an already contaminated atmosphere.

A grin escaped his face, when asked, “what’s wrong?” His response always is “Nothing.”

He weaponized all that surrounds him and turned it to rage;

I believe this is done to avoid all of his pain. Now made almost entirely of stone, a kevlar heart the only part left not wanting to be alone,

A part he tried so desperately to keep numb.