The air burned, the cold ate away at his grip
The sights were off, but a muscle would not be moved
Life was leaving, the tunnel was dark
The man with no fear nor heart
Was being devoured by his love
As the last thought came to his mind
What a shame the man thought…. What a shame.
He moved just a pinch for the air to release
He jerked and he screamed but not a word would be spilt
His breath was final and his motion was gone
The air you could hear and his grip wore off
© Copyright 2016 Ryan Fawkes . All rights reserved.
Short Story / Poetry
Short Story / Other
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