The People who we love

The People who we love

People who love me

they grow on me like moss

I allow them to flourish to their hearts content

while i walk through life protected against the cold.

Coziness itself

My blanket of moss and I.

And if war breaks out, the people who love me.

Become a horn-like layer and so i march

Through the world

Armor plated against the fire.

Untouchable.

I have my harness of bone.

But when someone who has grown on me goes away 

I'm left wounded.

Then I scurry/move uncertainly though the world

Vulnerable.

Vulnerability itself.

Me and my wounds which does not want to heal

When the people who i thought loves me goes away.