He was living in the last week,
Violent for a distraction he seeked
Hunter’s prize for the hunt, fists clenched to her lungs drowned in ironic blood
The skin off her back reeked of him
Reeked of cigarette burns put out on her skin
And still she believed in his golden hand
She mutters on her lips a plea to miss
He caressed the apple of a slit eye
And still she offered her smooth face to him,
He gently marks her tears stenciled to her paper skin, she seeked his poison
And still he feigns his mask, concerned, eyes sleight across emotions thin
Her heartstrings of meek snapped long ago, given up to the Chain, another link,
And still he owns the ink branded, barcoded to her slack-jaw
Teeth split the air, a cackle to slither around his sick tongue-
She heard all of it through an unwillingly listening ear
And still she stands for his downfall, reluctant to reveal disgust and fear
but still he’s impressed eyes sharpen at glance
Eyes torn from a gaze a daze reluctance that stilled his hand so he wished for her and can’t but still
He didn’t miss her, no and so
He angled a straight shot, a sharp thought on a course that sought it’s way to wrought and wreck and weaken her,
the thought floated in and out her bloodied ear as his baritone voice played on her fears,
the ones she saved for a shivering of skin in the darkness after unspeakable sin
Yearning for a purpose as he pushed, pulled then reeled her back, staying the night with reflected light in his eyes, almost shy,
for once a hope for the setting of a toxic sky, stomached and choked
But he only said
You’re hurting me not you