/count the seconds between each breath and listen carefully for the sound of Satan's heartbeat matching with yours./
Fifteenth floor.
He stepped onto the elevator alone, humming along to the piano chimes echoing from the top floor.
He pressed the button.
Twelfth floor.
The metal box sank, he didn't notice the space becoming smaller, nor did he notice the battery acid splattered across the linoleum.
Holes burned into the soles of his expensive leather shoes.
He stared straight ahead, completely unnerved.
Ninth floor.
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the cold steel walls.
Fifth floor.
The vent at the top of the elevator began to leak, ice cold water gushing from it and soaking him thoroughly.
Yet he did not stir.
First floor.
/and then he tasted cherry wine and gunmetal./
YOU ARE READING
Academy Of American Bullshit
PoetryCollection of poetry, parts of short stories, and the occasional rant written by an artist who is angrier than she'd like to admit.
