burning cities to taste ash.

he is an emperor but you are wolf-boy

Rome wasn't built in a day
And neither was he.
He; Roman,
He; God,
He;

His mother made a good boy,
A boy with the eyes of emeralds stolen from the poor,
A boy with a soul so golden and good at its core that it can't help but crumble,
A boy with lips crafted the blood red of enemies that must have crossed paths with a god,
With a family of Gods.

You are wolf-boy,
All anger and broken edges.
You are wolf-boy,
A man-beast who has held pretty things in the palms of his hands before
But cannot help curling up his fist,
Cannot help breaking little things.
You are wolf-boy,
All animal,
All roughness
But he is not breakable.

He glares you in the eye,
Standing closer to you to remind you of the foot or so he has on you
But you are not fazed;
He does not faze you
Because you are used to it,
Because you are certainyou could break him if you wanted to.

You are wolf-boy,
Breaker of all things beautiful,
And he is God of beauty,
Of sharp edges,
Of broken glass.

Perhaps that's why you both end up broken and jarred in the end.