Twisted thoughts escape his dry, cherry red lips; cracked, koolaid stained skin that admit to traumatic events unfolded.
I can’t peel my eyes away from his pale figure; a contrast to his orange get up.
The words smoothly falling out of his mouth, send shivers down my spine.
No one would consider his brain is rattling off recounts of that night while his inner friends help him remember the picture of her body that is burned into his brain- a contorted mind exposed.
Cooked flesh is the aroma he gives off and I gag, he stole my love and her smell still lingers; taunting me of an instance where I couldn’t be a hero.
The gavel pounds down and the cloaked man declares his fate.
As the newly added cold metal traps him into a life of isolation, he looks at me.
His bloody lips curl into a sneer as he is hauled back to hell.