There he was, laying in bed next to me:
exhausted, deeply asleep,
drained from the battle he had to endure.

The road was not easy, the battlefield was full of tasks.
Tasks he never thought he had to fight,
he had to fight him, his demons,
his insecurities, with everything he hates about him.

The voice of his father telling him he is not a real man.
The laughs of his brothers making fun of him
when they pushed him to the mud.
The whisper voices of the girls that
rejected him when he was a young, shy boy.

He built walls as tall as the ones that powerful
kings build around their castles.
Too afraid to go outside their lands and fight battles.

His armor was shatter to pieces, completely destroyed.

I turned a rich god into a beggar
And gods, like mortals, had a debt to pay.

His debt?
Me

My love, my attention.
I was his battle, I was everything he didn't have.
The light in his darkness.
The beacon guiding his ship in lost sea.
The forbidden fruit in his Eden.
He had to lose everything to win.
His position, his power.

He needed to be a mortal.
He had to bleed.
He had to cry.

He had to beg for love and forgiveness,
nothing he worked so hard by crashing
and destroying others,
was necessary to get my love.

He had to be mortal,
He had to bleed.
He had to cry.
He had to love.

From the gold throne,
to my white bedsheets.
From the opulence of his castle,
to the dim light of my bedroom.

Now, I was the god
I was the center of his attention
His devotion
And I was everything

I turned a rich god into a beggar