The lights dim down
as another last game finishes.
They gather in the high-rise,
hopeful for another story from Felix.
Another one of his countless
tales about
how he will always be
the hero.
How I will always be
the monster.

I long to be a part of them.
But all they long for is
a day in which I don't
destroy their home.
I see the fear on the faces of the Nicelanders as I tower above them.
Forever afraid of the unknown.
If only they could look past
my hands of destruction.
If only they would stop
looking up at me
and start
looking within me.
Beneath the tough exterior
there lies
a troubled soul,
and one thing
Felix can never fix:
a broken heart.

30 years of torment,
placed into a part
I didn't want
but had no choice
except to play it.
Countless quarters.
Countless rampages.
Countless medals.
Countless freefall
into the puddles of mud.

Shards of many
a smashed window
and many
a broken brick
litter the ground.
Because when contact is made
between brick and broken glass,
it is never a pretty sight.

I know
the windows must
stay broken
not because
it's my job,
but because
I'll always be
too afraid
and ashamed
to even glance
at the face
that stares back
from within the glass pane.