Holding blood of no colour in their depths as they
camouflage their lies,
Sweating under the pain of every stroke although the
mallet doesn’t so intend.
Buff me without taking away my sheen,
As you give shape to the person you want me to be,
I feel the heat of the alchemist you have always been,
Though of a strange amalgam you have cast of me!
Script kind words when you quill my story,
Let not the chalice you’ve blown from sand,
Splinter into shards to bleed you gory,
For finally it is you who fabricates this protagonist with
your hand.
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