Wound

A sword thrust downward, glancing the right of face.
Piercing the sternum, and slicing lungs and diaphragm.
The eardrums burst, the pop! the shell cracked open.
Head wracked leftwards turns, the wraith in ruins escapes.

The severed vertebrae, splintered off like icebergs.
The heart collapsing, ruptured blood-lined rubber.
The lungs lift shattered, crystalline cavities of silver.
The skin is flayed aside, layers of clothing in skin merge.

Metallic technology, morning bite of cold hard steel.
Turned in space with the glove, but forced facewards into flesh.
It drove a demon downwards, in roots of mine enmeshed.
This wound I here unwind, where words and image heal.

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