Blood spatters
Against a worm ridden wall,
A voracious reminder
Of the hate in our hearts.
"But maybe,"
She says,
"This is not my fault,
Maybe this is just my humanity,
Finding it's way through my arm."
From the shoulder
To the elbow,
From the elbow
To the fingers,
And the fingers somehow
Found their way to the handle.
A quivering point
Left hanging, suspended,
She's hoping it will find it's way
To his vibrating heart.
Yet, somewhere between
Heaven and hell,
Angels and demons are stirring;
Waiting for her decision
To bring a traveler to torment,
Or bring his soul to the hearth.
But the tension is steady,
The air a blanket, threatening to smother
Her shallowing conscience,
Her wavering heart.
A swift motion in the air,
A bird of prey to it's mark.
The rodent is squirming
And unwilling to die.
But the beak does not care,
It is indifferent to it's cries.
Wake up child!
She rises from the darkness,
Unable to distinguish reality
From what is surreal.
All she knows
Is that she is safe in her bed.
Imagining everything,
Vivid.
The best way to killl a human being
Is in your head.
It's less messy that way.
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