Poetry

The Devoured.

I reveal my bloody heart and he laughs because it's ripped at every edge.
He wasn't wrong but those weren't just scars, those were my life.
But he already knew that, for he was a demon of some sort.
Maybe an angel because he did only what was asked.
He lived off human hearts.
The tale is that if you can make the ultimate sacrifice he will set you free.
Come to him when you are ready to rest and he will heal your heart if you earned the right.
One year of as many good fortunes as you can imagine and you fade into the abyss.
I watch him claim his next victim, nothing remains except the heart he gave them, because the truth is the heart was never truly theirs which means he never truly healed anything.
It held certain feelings but he likes the way pain tastes on his tongue.
For the heart has already been devoured.
I see the look on his face as I know it was my turn, blood already on his lips I've accepted my fate.