Empty Armor

Pride hangs heavy like stale breath,  

you wear it, strut in its rust.  

It sharpens your tongue  

but dulls your ears,  

makes you a king of an empty street  

shouting orders to the pavement.  

Love doesn't live there,  

doesn’t crawl up through  

the cracks in your brittle chest.  

Pride locks the doors,  

barred windows,  

a fortress built for one fool  

waiting for applause to echo.  

You can't hold hands  

while gripping the reins,  

can't see the sky  

with your chin so high,  

thinking the world owes you  

its spin on your clock.  

Love catches its foot  

on the tripwire of your ego.  

It stumbles, it bleeds,  

and it leaves because  

it doesn't want to fight pride’s war.