A phoenix and her necromancer

Sick, sick, sick. Everything inside me is sick

He broke me, reshaped me, and forgot to remove the shrapnel

I needed her to survive him:

The pain of her existence kept me aware

When it was so tantalizing to ghost through

White oblivion and not return

But, I craved to be more someday

That perhaps with each day of weakness,

I would provide a day of power

Once I made it to my throne of hatred, blood, and bone

The world changed

It demanded softness after shaping me

Into ice and diamond

It recoiled at the blight of my triumph,

And even a phoenix and her necromancer

Could not ward off Atlas