A/N--This is a freestyle poem (there is no official format going on.) It's my first DN L/Light writing.
It's unbeta'd, but should be fine. It switches from Raito to L every other stanza.
At the Finish Line
The same fingers
In their ghostly,
Voluptuous pallor
—The very same ones
That traced vague patterns,
Mindless stories on his skin,
Held the syringe.
He could taste the victory
Saccharine and devastating on his tongue
Approaching the slumped figure
—His trophy, strapped to the chair
His proof that, indeed,
Justice prevailed
And his heart cried for solace.
They had finally arrived at that moment;
The race had ended, the fanfare long quieted
Leaving the consuming silence
—Laughable, in its pungent irony
So much that an unwelcome chortle rose in his throat
While the shame welled in his chest
No longer numb to regret or passion.
If only his body could run on autopilot
Could carry out the task at hand
Leaving his averse heart
—Sleeping in blissful ignorance
As he committed his own crime
Condoned by laws
But an atrocity in its own right.
He no longer thought;
His mind, his ego, his arrogance
Had crumbled, leaving anodyne eyes
—Savoring every last aspect of this man
And giving a faint, genuine smile
So as to say, "thank you" in the penultimate seconds
As the poison kicked in, lids fluttering shut.
Forty seconds and it was over;
One highly troubled human experience
Murderous, wrought with terror
—Imbued with love
Sent to a nothingness that did it no justice
A terrible thought as the relief and bitterness washed over him
Because, in the end, no one had won.
A/N Again: refused to keep my stanzas separate...