By Keith Hoerner
I am eternally caught in the poisonous web of your personal tragedies, floating in the eye of the tornado of your hatefulness – and inevitable eating of me.
Still, somewhere between your fast, your frequent, your furious back-and-forth feedings, I can feel the beating of your heart as it turns from crimson to black along each dying petal. This, but a pressed remnant of the love we could have shared.
You would have done me better to do me in swiftly, mercifully disabling my senses. But I was made to hang there, stuck and imprisoned with full consciousness, for your folly.