She lay half broken.
Legs akimbo with her skirt rucked up and her heart beside her on the floor.
Dragging herself to her knees she clutched the useless meat in both hands and stared in bare hope and anguish.
“Pump you b*tch!” She mentally called to a world that had never listened before.
I’m not your tortured soul.
Your bit of rough.
Your friday night.
I’ve had enough!
I’m more, I’m me.
I’m the cure, I want to be free.
“Pump! Pump for me.” She squeezed once for hope and once in vein then in anger again and again.
The blood was red the meat was thick she thumped it hard, pounded it quick.
Flowing tears with empty mind.
A life that flashed before her eyes.
It hit rewind with every slow torturous minute.
Replayed every regret, tear and grimace.
The empty nights holding her stomach with dreams of what could be.
The emptier nights holding her stomach dreaming of what was, and the worse nights clutching her heart for what should have been.
A black tar filled hole resided in her chest where a sliver of her soul still yearned to burn.
We never quit as teachers but we never seem to learn.
She stood up empty and cold as remnant of her heart lay strewn across the floor.
She turned towards the light.
No choice but to walk away in defeat.
Several moments later…
… That heart began to beat.
© G.P Williamson 2018