Page 167 of Into the Heartless Wood
I say: “You have my heart.”
I thrust him away from me
and plunge my hand
into my chest.
His voice is far away as
he screams
my name.
I hardly hear him.
My life is beating in my hands,
warm
soft
wet.
I count the pulses:
one
two
three
four.
And then I tear it out.
I crumple to the ground,
my heart
in
my
hand.
For one single moment more, I am aware.
There is the rain,
the grass,
the burning wood.
Then
there
is
