there is a demon in his chest
crawling through the ventricles
lurking in the arteries, waiting
waiting for the moment, when
the pulse quickens and sparks
his eyes grow dark, absent light
the light dims, then
flickers out
its blackness smothering the air
inhabiting his skeleton, licking his heart
his heart will thrash and quiver
stopping and gasping, long before
his features will return, to see the dawn
Definitely not arithmetic - this is very elegantly raw with chiselled benefits - the character of the write comes through with passion quietly indenting the armor of love, of observation, of perspective - love the way feeling emotes crisply, even as the palpable spirit of heart thickens inbetween the lines as well as in slightly cunning aftershocks - great write Heather, rather ticking monolith...lisaxx
ReplyDeleteThank you, Lisa. We like to think that everything is calculated... but life is organic. H.
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