The Writer's Nest

There was nothing to be done.

Nothing, except breaking it.

I took a deep breath;

It felt almost acidic.

Breathing hard, still,

I placed it in front of me.

Gathering all my strength,

I lifted that club.

You know the one;

It’s made of words.

The lethality of it is that

Each word is a weapon in itself.

Taking this club, then,

I moved towards it.

It was beating very fast,

Striving to survive.

Holding the club steadily

I inhaled one last time.

The astringent fumes

Nearly caused me to convulse.

But I squared myself

And brought the club down on it.

It broke into a million pieces

But strangely, contained life.

I looked at it in wonder.

The pieces were still moving.

The club slipped from my hands;

I could not do more.

But the acid had crept to my heart.

And there was really nothing to be done.

And there now lay two injured hearts,

One broken and one burnt.