Truth be told, he is a broken man. Lying crouched in a fetal position. Like that of a broken man. On the cold marble floor, his life ebbs away. Of a man stabbed, with multiple wounds and blood flows freely like a fountain of wine.
Gushing away, like strong undercurrents, contrasted to the energy left in this man.
Someone save me. He says. Though he knows that only he can save himself.
Strange how no physical pain is ever more painful than affairs of the heart. A self inflicted prison that cages the mind. Sapping away life energy.
He turns, and stares at the blank white ceiling, the shadows on his wall waves. He feels his body, nope no wounds. Then why fuck does it hurt so bad. The shadows wave again. Must be going crazy. Might as well say hi. He waves back. Lying flat on his back, he feels the cool cold floor.
Just like his heart.
He could see his life manifest in front of him. The flickering of a light. Gently swaying. To the left and right.
His heart is broken, his soul is broken. He is handicapped and there is no prosthetic for that. He lays there and hopes maybe a beam of white light would take him away. He stares hard. Stares a bit longer. Nope. Not happening.
The hacking is starting again. The lumberjacks. Hacking away at the trees inside his heart. Ravaging. He could hear the chainsaw.
Oh well, he thought. Let them be. He closed his eyes, hoping to dream. Of a sojourn with a glimpse of her.
He smiled. At that thought.
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