rages
inside my own head.
He smiles. Blood and rain run down his lips.
The flaming trees paint him in orange light.
He says: “You’re not a monster.”
Pain blooms through me as my mother forces another branch to push out from my hands, to pierce his shoulder.
He cries out in
agony.
I cannot bear
his eyes.
I cannot bear
his touch.
I cannot bear
him dying
in my arms
because
I
am
killing
him
even now.
You must carve out your heart, and bury it in the green earth.
I push through my tears,
through the yawning horror
that engulfs me.
“Owen.”
He whispers: “Seren. I—I love you.”
The light dims in his eyes.
It might already be
too late.
