If I Had a Heart

Wildlings
thrive on repetition
slashed lines, jarred up enemies 
buried scorn in jagged edges, stuffed full 
across saturated cotton where they cut out rebel hearts 
used them to eradicate fear, studding up walls of those weaker, 
found wanting, feelings laughed into oblivion while bones sharpened
in their fire, a savage afterlife, stiff as an arrow point, 
keeps instincts razor-steady
at the brink of a ghostly white, 
unrelenting
atonement