Everything I own was stolen
From you
Or him or them.
Where have you been?
Locked in a den
But now I'm on the run.

Stain on your fingers
Maybe, I hope it lingers
Because there has to be evidence
Of existence at all
of the sadness, towering tall
I mark it on my wrist and on the wall
With clear paint and razor-claw.

Is there something to hold onto?
Everything I own was stolen from you.