An echo of something breaking...
inside my skull it shines.
The violence comes down from high
in wings soft and talons bared:
the craving of smashing that voice.
Rip and gnaw and tear that throat.
Where's the boundary between justice and revenge?
Doesn't matter, I'll never give... give in.
Inside my ribs it gets smothered:
silent anger swallowed by empathy.
I choke on the blood but ain't the reds pretty on my lips?
An echo of something falling.
A blunt object clenched in my hand.
The violence comes swift and precise.
Downy wings enfold me. Protecting.
Protecting me from my own heart.
To kill myself or to survive.
Was it justice? Was it revenge?
White feathers tinted scarlet.
Prettier than my lips.
As I lay with my iron ribs wide open
that voice is still there.
Was it worth it?
Was it worthy?
Was it!?
It was, it was.