A dragon who breathes no fire

I

am a dragon

who breathes no fire. Only breathing in

and out

the anxieties that come with being alive

as targeted prey

of an unborn hero. My dreams: shelved, hoarded

but never expanded

upon as each day grows more tense, wondering

which day

will be my last

before the hero slays me. I slumber

with no eyes closed

and my ears buried

beneath the canvas

of treasure – the fields of cuddly

toys, their necks:

wrung,

pale,

eyes dried blind by sleepless nights

and the fear

of death itself. I don’t want to be

the pedestal

or the footnote

to someone else’s glory, that of murdering a being

most misunderstand,

for my body – its appearance is not human and its stature

most fearful to those of the flesh.

 

I am a dragon

who breathes not fire, but the i-

-cy cinders of panic, those chills

that gallop

down

one’s spine, the highwaymen

of life that steal

from me any sense of dignity. My heart wains

with an unstable passion, desires

spark within its most

remote embers…

but they won’t kindle my breath.

The shards

of flint

are frozen

in a fear

of the hero

who’s not yet born.

 

I am a dragon who breathes no fire

but has the armour plating,

the claws,

the strength that conquers over

that of a fleshy hero.

 

I am a dragon who desires to live

and even without

my breath, I won’t

back down

from any hero.

 

I am a dragon who has no breath, but I’ll continue to live

to spite the unborn hero

to screech apart the mountains

with the breath

of a determined soul.

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