Walkin alone was something I did quite often.
Always during the night and for never a reason.
On one particular evening, my doom was met.
As I saw the blood spackled across my vision.

I felt the poundings of a burning hatred and fearful rage.
My bones were shattered with clubs of metal and wood.
My face broken at the taste of pavement.
My skin, ripped apart by the blades.

I felt as if death was staring me in the eye, and his grip tightened around
my body. Squeezing the life from me (what remained of it).
And my last sight was that of the full moon, peaking up from the clouds.

April 20, 2004
 
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