Damn that wretched muscle
Bound by strings, ligaments,
Of such elasticity
As to confine the beast
To writhe and contort
Glistening with sticky,
Viscous clotted blood.
OH! How it pounds
Swollen and bruised
And yet it goes
Creating such an immense
A racket impossible to ignore
A feeling.
So nauseating.
You turn to the skies
Neck stretched
With that wild animal pulsing so,
It nearly cracks open your throat
To the skies you scream
A scream
Which curdles
which allows that Heart,
dripping froth
to spill blood in such a foul cacophony.
And curse the creator
the mother
inventor
who gifted you with that heart
battered and spitting
throbbing in agony against your ribs,
fighting against restraint
so that it may,
at any moment,
explode from your chest
with a shriek
so decadent
and thick.
and tiny drops of spoilt blood
may shower upon
your butchered hollow shell.
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