Dear reader,

He was a child when misfortune came knocking on his door
His step fathe–
the monster entered his room drunk
It told him that he should’ve died along with his ****** father
The monster’s fist came crashing on his face
Baby teeth went flying out of place
He felt like he was dying
The whole time crying
His mother’s name he was calling
She came in running
With a rush of adrenaline she pushed the monster aside
A plethora of calming words she confides
And through the child’s eyes
All faded into the void
The wailing cries of banshees both scarlet and lapis woke his soul
Ravens in navy blue told him how the monster took his mother’s life
And how that poor beast took its own with the pull of a slipknot breaking its neck
Bulbs flashing,
Ideas popping above every head in the crime scene
Covering what was what the very definition of home
And much like that definition
Emotions left the child
Leaving nothing but pain alone

Like a single snowflake rolling into an avalanche as it falls down from the everest
Our child grew into a young man
And much like that destructive force of nature
He found it amusing
To wreck lives wherever he was put in
A red river rushed right out of a jagged hole
Stalactites and stalagmites,
Blood stained,
Cracked as they crashed on polished tiled floors
Just as soon as a five year old scavenger sees a half-empty bottle containing granules as white as the broken horses from before
Our young man empties his stomach and cleanses his mind
Regurgitating everything
He has taken in ever since he was put in the care
Of the man he just killed with stomach cleansers
Foster,
As cruel as his care can be,
Immediately took him to another plain
Pain followed right away
Like tailwinds that whip what a storm could not destroy
The rapture seemingly came early that year
Designated guardians fell like raindrops
Blood drizzled on printed flowers on the wall
As our killer wallflower craved to see handprints made of blood
Replace them all
Red seas emerged wherever he went
Not leaving a single body alive

My unseen hands touched the cold faces of bodies that met an early death
Just because they have met our young man
Now a revolting adult
It is my fault!
If I had not taken pity on that toothless child none of this would’ve happened
I cannot say that I enjoyed reaping the souls
Of those he enjoyed to reap too early
He was a convict giving a cruel verdict to the jury that didn’t know him
They did not choose to know him and that is also my fault
If he ever comes knocking on your door,
I apologize
For not taking his life as a child.

Sincerely yours,
*Death