Sliver

"My goodness, you are breathtakingly beautiful" He said, as she stood towering above him with the butcher’s knife at the ready…. " You are the reason poets bleed words upon papers dry as old bones, screaming glory into the cold night, harsh with the punishment of insanity, but to be calmed by your words drifting upon heat shimmers soothing the weary mind in this cold, lonely and baron heart of mine.".. He watched, hoped.. hoped that maybe something of her would remember…. even just a sliver of her…. BAM! then he died.

“Don’t expect my gentle insanity would offer you glimpses of what used to be” she mumbled, “don’t expect that I’d even still care even if my memory was intact.. INFACT DON’T CONFUSE ME WITH LOVE!” she yelled, heated, heightened by the pure excitement of his bones crushing under her, reverberating though the floor, though her bare blood-soaked feet, making her calf muscles quiver harmoniously with her almost toned thighs…. As she stood steady, blood raining from the knife, creating splatters of star-shapes on his shirt… DEAD. Exactly where you belong.

“breath-taking…” he moaned with this very last cubic ounce of breath.

 

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