I feel it coming from somewhere buried within me
it reaches out, hungrily
hungry for the blood
the pulse, the lifesource that causes it pain

it reaches out till it grasps it
iron grip it clenches my heart
fingers like knives it squeezes

slowly it closes into a tight fist
drinking in the crimson

my heart flutters, frantic in protest
like a bird it screams for release
in the bone cage of my chest

but it cannot escape the grip
the last of the crimson oozes out
and minutes later the fluttering slows to a halt

the fingers release their capture
now a limp glove of red
empty of its pulse

and from somewhere deep within me
victorious over its kill
the blade fingers return,

thinking foolishly,
that it has won.