casting shadows
on its blackened aorta.
i can still see
the scars
from the nails
that pinned it to the trunk
of past hopes
and wishful dreams;
where it was bled
dry
by the coldness of life.
free at last,
leaving behind the blood-filled
and forgotten initials
etched where it once hung,
feeling the warmth
in the musty corridors
of its dark ventricles,
creeping,
ever creeping
forth,
filling me with
...something.
filling me with
you.
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