you are a god and they will follow you anywhere

you are Apollo and you have traded your bow and your golden crown for a knife and a mean right hook

your ichor splatters against concrete and brick in back alleyways because it’s the only time you feel divine again

there are stars in your eyes and you see olympus when your vision goes white, asphodel in stolen and unearned moments of rest

(olympus is white and unstained, painfully pure, the faces of your family hold nothing but apathy and it _burns_)

you were Apollo and now you are not and you cannot go back

you were a god and now you are not and you cannot go back

but they see the chains of divinity looped around your neck and through your skin and they will follow you

with bruised fists and broken limbs they will follow you as you stain the city gold

(the gods watch as you bleed and they laugh, they laugh and are so beautifully blind)

so bleed, golden boy, bleed and raise yourself, you need not be a god to be a godkiller

so bleed, Apollo, bleed,

and olympus will bleed in your wake

(aureolus [adj.]- gilded, adorned, or covered in gold)