He bites his tongue to ribbon when he’s conflicted,
And when he decided to kidnap, she wasn’t a kid, that girl his tongue bled into his stomach.
He didn’t grab her wrist; he grabbed her bones through the skin.
Bird bones, little pink nails scrabbling at his arm.
He would swear he knew what he was doing the same as she knew his tongue was in pieces.
She thought her bones were breaking and he worried over the possible absence of his tongue.
He said she had guts and he aches to see them.
She said he was being unfriendly, but the way his hair spiked made her think of Sora and it made her sick.
But when he drags her into the oily black, the swirls of blue blank,
His thoughts are on the little wrist that’s shattering in his hand.
Not Roxas.
Not anything.
Just the bird bones.