Bugs

I can feel the six-legged creatures crawling on my skin. There is not just one or two. There are hundreds all over my body. They are hunting. It’s not my flesh that they want, nor is it my blood. No, it’s much deeper than that. Go past the veins, past the bone, oh, it’s my heart. The endless beating of my hideous heart. It’s not a good natured one, nor is it normal. These bugs know what my heart is capable of. The bugs are attracted to the darkness within. I am not afraid. I have not sinned enough in my life. In fact, these bugs have not seen my soul. My soul is the raven that is ready to harvest upon them.