chest in tatters
fire rising from the hole
his fists pounding against the door
splintering wood
blood pouring across white,
skinless knuckles

an inhuman scream
like a wind out of hell
rising from the hollow throat
mouth a misplaced act of self mutilation
stretched and pinned wide
letting the smoke flow out

scorched flesh hanging in strips
from the gory wood
fire in his breath
but eyes
(shut tight)
held storms without thunder

the wind and violence grew louder
crack, crack, crack,
the door held
as the voice broke
descending harshly from rage
to despair

fire in his chest
choked with emptiness
poured out it’s dying breath
black and putrid
the taste of loss
like burning plastic

his forehead fell
against the cracked and bloodstained wood
the blow struck silence
in his throat

eyes opened to a point
somewhere past
the stained and pitted barrier

they were grey
like a sky consuming cloud
slowly seeping to the ground
as it traps the day
from horizon to horizon
in endless whispers

(take my name,
but tell my voice
to stop burning yours
into my throat

give me memory
and I will show you
what it means
to die

forgive me

I have lost
your story)