Sharp talons clutch the weight of a thousand words.
Black feathers carry the pain of a thousand scars.
A small head filled with dangerous thoughts,
Burdened with haunting visions whirling through a twisted mind.
Weighed down by the realization of never being the same
And the forced unawareness to try and stop the aftermath,
A distinct sound spreads throughout the empty home.
The clear sword had made its first hit to an unsuspecting victim,
Breaking hollow bones.
A cool breeze brushes against white hair,
An old hinge screams as the splintered door opens,
And black feathers, now tinted red, are strewn across the entryway.
The door closes, a feeble hand pressing the cold latch.
Perpetual screeches echo through an empty hall
As the wounded struggles with itself,
Casting itself from wall to wall,
Coating white walls in claret tinted paint,
Praying to a god it no longer believes in,
Slumping onto the icy tiles.
Cloudy cerulean eyes, like icebergs,
Meet small black ones, that shift from obsidian to coal.
Sable wings become scarlet soaked.
As the faint sound of breathing desists,
And the room is enveloped in a deafening silence.
All that is left is a lifeless form,
covered in the blood that spreads from beneath it.
And as the deep carmine seeps into the porous grout,
A quiet voice hums a happy tune.
