By the Knife

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Bloodied hands in the midst of night.
Once an innocent child
Who's eyes gazed up at mother,
Pleading for love.

No light sheds upon the broken body sprawled before him.
A knife in hand,
Refusing to drop.
Drip.
Drip.
Whether blood or tears,
He cannot tell.

His heart beats cold.
The face of a friend
Rests with the warmth of death.
Forever at peace.
And he's more alive than you.