The Jagged Edges

The barbs she threw at him left jagged edges on them both torn from deep within herself raw, bloody pieces of meat  hurled violently across the room, the space, the endless time. They cleaved to him, each one slowly shrouding the man until he became a prickly porcupine. Some silent days, from weariness would bring respite, closeness. In intimacy, his spines would prick her open wounds; They could not help themselves, They no longer had control. And so they lived, or slowly died behind soft lace curtains; a bitter purgatory on the jagged edges of a new society.