The ever-growing list.
A thousand names
penned by my wrist.
The names of
lives gone by.
It's no surprise
that they would die
blood on my hands
their shadows faded with the mist.
Knife in my fist,
another addition to
my ever-growing list.
The names of
the ones who wronged me
set their souls free
from the guilt they should feel
but certainly don't.
Instead the pain I feel,
but once they're gone,
I won't.
Blood at my fingertips,
surely they won't be missed.
Soon they only exist
on the ever
                   growing
                                 list.