I Die.

I killed him!
I KILLED him!
I KILLED HIM!

Death. It is an escape.
Death is beautiful- Death is divine!
But he did not die,
I killed him.

"Murther! Murther!", cried Silence.
The pen ran out of ink.
For it did not want to be a witness- a medium of acknowledgement.
A third pen failed to blot.
They do not want to stain.

They all run away.
Far, far away.
And they should!
Why shouldn't they?
Run away from danger, I say.

They ALL run away-
Far, FAR away.
And they should!
WHY shouldn't they?
RUN AWAY FROM DANGER
I again say.

In Death lies Beauty.
In Death lies Sincerity.
In Death lies Peace.
In Death Serenity, Benevolence, Love and Care.

But care I do not!
I take souls away.
I kill- the cruelest kind of murder
For you do not acknowledge it as murder.
And yet I murder, I do.

Again, Again, Again, Again,
Again, Again, Again, Again.
Eight moons in a row
And maybe I will some more.
But, murder I do.

I murder what is dead.
I murder what is living.
I murder everything that comes my way.
No, everything that is in him.
I murder.

The lifeless body moves.
It trods. It falls. It sees.
But it reacts not.
How could it?
Life it has none.
It did. It had.
I sucked it out and tossed it away.

And then I cry.
I cry, again.
"What did I do?"
"What have I done?"
"I did not mean to."
And then I die.
I die, again.