It hurts my heart.
An ice cold hand
reaching between my ribs
squeezing,
crushing,
bruising;
and with a taut snap
rips free
the abscessed soul
plagued with hell spawn.
Savage teeth bared
ripping and tearing
at phantom viscera
gorging on putrid flesh
steeped and soaked in sin.
Wracked with guilt
tortured with the profane
I crawl forward,
my hand reaching out
grasping for shattered glass
ready
to plunge it into my breast.
To end this streaming vile
spewing of sensationalized news.
Snarls and roars fill the arena
as demons prepare to roast
the humans who feed their hunger
on the here and now
with no thought to the future.
Pain paralyzes my body
I can go on no longer
I am lost to the hoards
to the vast crowds
who stream through the entrance to hell
complacent in their own corruption.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
November 23/17