Poetry is no place for a heart that's a whore
thranduil had stopped eating weeks ago, food no longer interested him. And if he wasn't laying in bed, he was punishing himself.
And I'm young and I'm strong
But I feel tired and old.
today he had set up a schedule for someone to whip him. His body was already bruised and cut from past injuries in which he had refused healing. He hoped this would numb his mind off the pain.
"You must let someone heal you!" His servant exclaimed after disrobing him and finding the welts and scrapes that had enveloped his skin. But he had refused and when he shot an icy glare at the Elf he turned away.
And I've been poked and stoked
It's all smoke, there's no more fire, only desire
For you, wherever you are
In his sleep he was most vulnerable, and he woke up with tears spilling from his eyes. Anger had consumed him he wished to wreak havoc on those around him, so he forced himself in a confined area with nothing around him but himself.
You have no idea how it feels to be on your own
In your own home with the fuckin' phone
And the mother of gloom in your bedroom
Standing over your head.
he pulled on his hair desperately trying to imagine his son next to him. But the memory was fading in his his grief.
I will not pretend, I will not put on a smile
I will not say I'm all right.
Thranduil hit his head against the wall tears dripping and mixing with blood.
I will not pretend, I will not put on a smile