My Kingdom Came

Like the pricks of a staple, it scrapes your skin,

the blood is drawn and cries again.

However the pain remains the same,

The mask is chained to its demanded regime.

The sticks and stones destroys your bones,

You say they don't cut, but the words are throned.

My walls of China bestow its scars,

They beckon for protection from those built of war.

In spite of my armor muffling the pains,

It rings for the true screams that are deep within.

I'm tired and I can't...

And I wish that I can...

Nevertheless, it's what they always say,

It comes with a price in order to stay.

Although, how do I know,

If I want to go?

Is it by sword,

Or by soul?