Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Drops of crimson red fall to my feet,
Pools of poison, together they meet,
About the house I long to seek.
Creak. Creak. Creak. Creak.
Soul of my foot creeping along the floor,
Strumming the tunes of the wooden boards,
Lifting me over to the already open door.
Twist. Twist. Twist. Twist.
Fingertips entangled in the web of the knob,
Spiralling it past me as I seek the next sob,
The slashed worn-out curtains, tied in a knot.
Hum. Hum. Hum. Hum.
The gentle wave of music uplifting my ears,
My steady beating heart amidst my moving feet,
Pushing hand against window, a print appears.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.
A faint crooked line escapes from the print,
Beaded drops of blood fusing the flint,
Spreading through glass like prayers long sinned.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.
Voices hover about my ear, so patronising,
Glass vibrating, apart it's prising,
Feeling breath on my neck, hands rising.
Shatter. Shatter. Shatter. Shatter.
Blood-curdling screams escaping from within,
Shards of torn hearts piling by my feet,
Pools of crimson blood soaking my sins.
Fall. Fall. Fall. Fall.
Lifeless bodies limping to the ground,
As strong hands grasp their necks, their hands,
Scratching my skin, deafening my sound.
Heart stammering with every minute,
Fists crunching my neck, each joint, no limit,
The laughter ascending from the darkest of pits.
But no voice escapes the mouth of the dying,
Amidst broken glass and bloody bodies, lying,
One more lifeless body amidst the darkened alleys.
The darkened alleys of one's torn out heart.