... my lord father once told me that hard places breed hard men,
and hard men rule the world.

You were born from the sea,
blessed with salt, blessed with stone,
blessed with the cursed steel that flays your skin.
Their knives are sharp, you discover,
and with them they carve your body and
stain your mind; they are stronger than you.
A hard man you are no more, but a shadow.

Meek.
Weak.
Reek.

Reek is the name by which you're known;
Reek is who you are.
Stench covers you from head to toe;
blood and scabs cover your back and arms.
Flayed and cut you were, by the one you trusted.
Ironic, that the one who trusted you died
by the same blood that spilled yours.

The watery halls will wait for you,
and you may hope (if you dare to hope)
that the Drowned God will let you rest.

For the Poetry Craze Forum's 100 Prompts Challenge. Number 19 is salt, and I decided to use Theon Greyjoy and the blessing of the Drowned God to create this.