VIII. Mars: Pain Was an Arrow (Death Became Me)

Pain was an arrow. First, sifting through the air into the flesh, grazing the veins cutting through the heart. I hadn't felt it until I felt love, Thrashing and clawing its way out my flesh, finely mincing blood clots. Protruding through the lungs, leaving me gaping with holes in my chest. The wounding festers, it becomes a poison, bleeding around any time the body moved. Then death became me, in my aspiration of becoming everything other than myself, Out of refusal to be consumed by pain, That's what it looks like to be burned by love.