Multi-tiered castle as daily practice.

The invader as emotional trauma.

Pennants flapping in the evening breeze as public facing content.

Moat as the distance between me and you.

Piranhas as resurgent childhood memories.

Little slit in the gatehouse door as sliding into my DMs.

Trumpets as well, trumpets.

Battle cry as distributed denial of service attack.

Lighting the fires for the cover of smoke and darkness as drunk texts from your ex asking about shared property.

The indiscriminate slaughter of women, children, and animals as deleting every single photo of us together.

Boiling oil poured over the wall as the bubbling sound of synthesizers, beating into my chest.

Abandoning the lower city as not leaving the house for days.

Hoarding essential provisions as ordering delivery for multiple meals at once.

Ravens in the night as zoom meetings with your camera off.

Cutting the days under siege into the wall as writing every day anyway and knowing the days pass because there is more writing.

The last stand at the doorway to the keep as listening to the same song on repeat until your throat is raw.

The archive in the king's house as morning pages written whenever they happen.

The victor tells the story and this is my story so fuck off.