You stand there, glorious,
like a Goddess of Destruction,
hair flowing around your porcelain face,
a moat of blood pooling at the shattered feet of your castle,
the gleam of victory in your shallow gaze
--and what have you won?

Metallic barriers rise and fall about you,
close about the corpses of those
unlucky souls
ill-fated enough to have had your favor for any short amount of time
--and I have to ask myself,
Are you really satisfied?

Are you content, in your solitude,
to have nothing to fear save the
(inevitable)
collapse of your own formidable defenses?

Once you said to me that you were glad to have loved,
to have felt as deeply as the darkest depths of the ocean,
to have felt
at all.
Once you said to me that you regretted nothing.

And now I behold you there,
beautiful and broken,
withdrawn from this world
--untouchable,

Unattainable--

and I have to wonder,
Was it really worth having loved at all?