Construct

Weaving through the fires of pain, my agony turns to tedium.
It does not effect any remedy, but there may be no solution here, in this dome.
To conquer one is to conquer all, but how can they be traversed?

The taint upon my arm turns me to the sky.
And I see
The rain that falls for weeks
Vanishing into my scar.
I don't understand.

Finally I realize:
I am not a man.
I never was.