The Cost of a Soul (By Cat Matchuk)
The tension pulled across the spine.
The pain
was unbearable and became a hand to hold.
To carry
through the years I didn’t wish to endure.
He sold
my soul, against my will in the black market.
I found
it again and purchased it with pennies.
The value
was worthless, tattered, it meant nothing.
The tension
brought from the pain, dragged me downwards.
A hand
not his, but yours to hold; soft and warm.
An unfamiliar
feeling. Something foreign to my mind.
To revive
my soul, that was brighter than before.
The value
was worth every heartbeat and more.
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