October 22, 2010
We flock like birds,
toward another's pain,
feasting upon,
the crimson rain.

The cool blade,
dulls against our hearts,
silencing all of us,
like a form of simple art.

Bathing in this sea of madness,
we are but ravens,
slipping into madness.

Shrill screams,
falling from our lips,
as the bright gleam,
cuts into our hips.

We are alone in this world,
mourning the losses,
of our baby girls.

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