Six nights since I determined I’d had enough, and all I can hear is your heart.
You preyed on me among the wights of a locomotive’s steam. So eager to assist in my search for a photo swept by turbulence along the platform. Five years later and I could hardly breathe for the weight of your rule on my chest.
I had to turn you over on the hearth twice before the coals could swallow your ruin in full. Smashed your skull to splinters with a fire iron, and funneled your kingdom to the night in thick tumbling gouts.
Yet still I hear your heart.