but the flame is elsewhere,
a place where the fuel and spark can find their oxygenous lubricant.
The victims know that behind their muffled cry there is something else. Something
more than them, that is truly suffering.
Voices scratching from inside this crimson cocoon lose their grip.
One simple act of gluttony is nothing more than perfect,
but it's the repercussions that reverberate silently through the thick air,
electrifying every last fiber of skeleton holding you together.
So far from good
that they do not know evil.
I will soak in every last occurrence,
and lick succulently at the ashes of reason,
left beneath my boots.
The still frames of
his jacket sleeve,
her curled toes,
my clenched jaw,
are all that will remain.
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