The Game of Purgatory

Burning, still burning.
These scars have yet to fade.
Thinking, just wondering.
That game was really well played.

In the end, I won.
Though it seemed there was no king.
I kept both my feathered appendages,
But the other was left with only one wing.

They bled,
And we were momentarily blind.
Then I could see they were gone.
The pieces to my heart, I had to find.

Perching over civilization,
Way up above,
Constantly wondering what it feels like,
To be a bleeding one winged dove.