Stabbing The Man In The Heart
“Look, just look. See that. I don’t even..." he says and pauses, "feel.” He smiles. Then he stares at her mouth before he becomes pensive at her scar. He likes her scar. It's mysterious. But not as much as his repeating now a procedure right through the chest with a sword. His red shirt’s on the floor. It's touching the edge of the crimson curtains the texture of cardigan somewhere. At whose pleats she'd now stare.
She has nothing to say. She thinks of nothing but the call's fray. It’s vivid really. Something she thought she couldn’t associate with sound normally . It is, she thought, better than the spectacle of eternal life in front. Its voice wasn’t familiar, but if stereotyped would remind you something secretarial. And then she thought again, Why was it crying and asking to speak of my men? No it couldn’t be a confirmation. It couldn’t be this. There are reasons for cliches, but theirs won't be this.
“Why that look? Don’t you see..”, he looks back at the sword. He traces its silver. His left fingers now to the shaft. The blade slicing the left of its index. But it is not a scream- and scarlet-inducing thing. But it is no longer something nobody would do.
“I’m not gonna die, Baby. Even for you.”
There is a pause before she soundlessly says “That’s it that’s it that’s the reason for it”. And now sick to her mouth, but still unknowing if it’s because she’s not the last to know. Or it’s too late now to stab a heart.
She has nothing to say. She thinks of nothing but the call's fray. It’s vivid really. Something she thought she couldn’t associate with sound normally . It is, she thought, better than the spectacle of eternal life in front. Its voice wasn’t familiar, but if stereotyped would remind you something secretarial. And then she thought again, Why was it crying and asking to speak of my men? No it couldn’t be a confirmation. It couldn’t be this. There are reasons for cliches, but theirs won't be this.
“Why that look? Don’t you see..”, he looks back at the sword. He traces its silver. His left fingers now to the shaft. The blade slicing the left of its index. But it is not a scream- and scarlet-inducing thing. But it is no longer something nobody would do.
“I’m not gonna die, Baby. Even for you.”
There is a pause before she soundlessly says “That’s it that’s it that’s the reason for it”. And now sick to her mouth, but still unknowing if it’s because she’s not the last to know. Or it’s too late now to stab a heart.
Post a Comment