It’s cold here;
Colder than my own hands,
Colder than my own heart.
My fingers drape over another body.
I can hear someone crying.
I don’t understand humans.
Why are they always so sad in this town?
It looks like they have family and friends here.
They’re all together.
See, I’m now staying in this “ghetto”.
People can’t see me, though.
They can’t see me taking the hand of the young girl,
Who told me that she can see her Mama and Papa now.
They can’t see my figure surrounded by dark wisps;
Too thick to see the cracked skeleton controlling it all.
With an all too familiar aroma of death, though,
I take more bodies.
I’m not sure where people go after I take them.
I lead their souls to another place.
Away from the pain and corruption of this world.
Today I realized that the younger the person I take,
The more people cry.
The more they feel as if they are dragged down,
Heavy in my aching arms.
Today I saw a man be taken away,
He was at peace, though.
Went with a smile.
But I find that when I saw a mother cradling her starved son,
It ignited something within me.
Days have passed since I took the young boy.
People definitely have a reason for…
Why do people act like this;
Killing others that are just like them?
Is it out of fear?
See, when I take the children of lonely parents,
I have never attempted to speak to them.
But with that first young boy, though, I began to feel it.
This pounding rage of the craving...
Craving that it will all stop,
Craving that the people I’ve saved will be okay,
Craving that when the rain comes down, it doesn’t pour