Such binds.

We're made arrayed in razor blades 
and dragonscales. So fireproof 
and bullet-proof, foolproof 
as well. We cannot fail

Again. 

They cannot hit us in this
shifting shell, with keen
offensive edge we take
to all the world for all
it gives. We've made
our pledge on each

Mistake.

And we have found 
such enemies, arrayed
as well as we for times
like these, who prove each
time we add a new one to the lists, 

It's justified. It's just so bad. 
It's just what we have got to do 
to just get by. To not be weak.
To never trust wrong ones again,
as we insist we'll never be the fool. 

We squint through narrow slits,
and try to see just who this is,
until we let the guard come down
once more. We find our words for this.
All lies. Then we're reminded why
we don't do that. This one so right,
proved wrong so sore! So wrong
we were to trust and hope.

We've just about lost count, 

but score by every scar in tender parts.
And every armor dent and rent
and cutting shard, and every bent
of razorblade has taught us more.  

Much more than we could ever take, 
if every hit were not the last. 

So wickedly, our hard and sharp array
is made in every pass. By every forward
-looking day, in lessons chasing from behind.
We'll be the worst we had to be. It's worth

the price we paid to seek and find.  

It's better than to go
forth naked, weak, naive
and blind. Eventually,
we'll let down guard once more,
and this time we shall snare 
the one thing we were looking for,
in all these cursed and wandering times 
of care. Or else, we'll add another notch.  

One more bad lesson to remind us
why we hide, and what we get 

By getting snared up in such binds.