I hear the crows outside.
The signals of death despair and ******.
The very signs indeed that something has gone a foul
and that they,
whether from heaven or hell,
are here to leave no trace of the carcass no matter what it is.

They follow wherever I go.
Being who I am
I have no life,
no beating heart,
nor flowing blood.

But then again...
I am the bringer of death.

But where did it all start.
When did I develop this insatiable urge
-NO! -
Need to ****.

When was it that the gods decided
that I was to be punished
with this heavy task of taking
from one what I cherish above all things?

I am not sure. But a monster in the truest sense I am.

I relish in my grave burden.
The feeling of death (of me!)
as it steals over the eyes of my victim
sends a warm chill through me.
The feeling of total *******…