Through a red stained window
I watched a friend lose their head
And coupled with regret I was filled with a hope
That maybe the blade would fail to descend on the neck of the soul in turmoil and end the berating.
The scent of fear finally fading
A sense of complacency
Come to a place that half matches decency
But it's deceit.
The blade calls and falls
Claws and hungers
Hands unbound, hold yourself still
Commence the sentence given in a voice of the same pitch and tone of the one coming from your throat
A traitor to your own
A blade buried home
A mind on the run
Forever doomed to roam