Love and sense, bellicosity.
But no one said two conflicting things cannot co-exist.
We have our walls, an armour for our vulnerability.
Blood is precious, pain is torment.
My sanity, prevents crimson on my skin.

Nonetheless, amazing, how he just enter our worlds.
It's almost like he existed since the beginning of time.
So am I wrong about barriers?
About my own human nature.

Skepticism grows with age.
Every month is a brick on your wall.
To prevent,
anything.
Are we really that fragile?

We grow on our bricks. Brown, sturdy, breathless.
Like a creeper, moving up a vine.