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Vital Organ
May 3, 2013
My heart leans againat the wall.
The thumping of his foot matches
the fast intake of oxygen
to his chest cavity, his blood
a stark contrast to the
black clothing he wears.
The darkness he made for himself
masks the light that mine
was intended to be; a torch,
engulfed by the morbid shadow,
blackens the black itself.
His eyes, those scorching embers,
hide behind protective purple mirrors
Maybe, to protect me.
I know that my heart
keeps me eternally alive,
though my soul, my past,
stays littered with holes like
a corpse from repeated stab wounds.
© Anonymous
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