I don't post anything here, but I do post what I call poetic ramblings on my Twitter and Instagram accounts! And I would say things in my prose writing get a little poetic at times as well 
Everything burned, was burning.
Hoarfrost coated his lungs. His heart beat through an ice storm. Even if he had wanted to move, Fia didn’t know that he could. Each little movement cost him, his body paying for it with seconds of pain and punishment that strung themselves into minutes of agony. And still, he laughed.
It hurt.
And he laughed.
Because he could no longer speak.
The whole world went to breaking. Even his voice felt like glass being ground into the dirt by a bootheel. Part of him wondered if he would ever be able to speak again. Would it matter after all of this? The thief would die, one way or another, and he would be responsible for that too.
This young man with a gift for the shadows and who looked like summer’s first love, like the last light in an ever-darkening night.
A breath shook itself free from Fia. He turned away from Eli and stared up at the ceiling. His lips parted once more. He made no sound.
Again, his chest rose and fell with undue effort.
But just as Eli was about to tell him there was no need to reply, Fia laughed, and it sounded a lot like Love’s last confession. Raw with too much emotion, a sound that bled, and didn’t know how to stop the bleeding so it simply turned everything red.
“How could there have been any word of my survival?” Fia said.
