Picking up the Pieces

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Picking Up the Pieces

 
I cleaned up the mess…
Again…
This one being bloodier
Than the last…
I’m growing weary of
Picking up the pieces
From all the lives you’ve shattered,
With what is seemingly
No conscience whatsoever…
I’ve asked you for nothing…
And that is exactly what I have
Received from you…
Not even a mere thank you
Or a kind word,
As if all that I have done for you
Has been expected of me…

You act as if it is my fault that
I am unable to clean out your closet…
The one where you keep all the bones…
Your skeletons are beginning to talk…
They’re telling epic stories of your
Misinterpretations of reality…
Even these darkened and stained walls
Are echoing the screams…
Yet you continue to leave your
Severed bodies scattered
In every room of which you wander…
I met your most recent victim
In the hallway outside your study…
She seemed so unsuspecting of her fate
That I found exceptional doubt that she had
Even made your acquaintance…
I hope you can find it within your soul…
If in fact there is one to be found,
To understand my attempt to warn her
Of her wellbeing…
But of course we both realize that
Your understanding of my actions
Has never before found a rational thought
Within your depravity…

Do you remember all of their names?
Do you even remember your own?
Her name is Kachina…
The one I met in the hall…
Her name means sacred dancer…
I cannot stand idly by
And allow one who is known
As sacred dancer to be led
Into the darkness of your mind…
I will lead her away from your mortuary
Before your embalming fluid reaches her
Still bleeding veins…
I will then return for you…..
To clean up the mess…
To pick up the pieces…
To the applause of those whom you
Have led into other worlds…
And when I lead you into the cellar of your torture
I will do so with what is seemingly
No conscience whatsoever…

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I don’t know about you…
But I won’t be going into the cellar anytime soon…

Michael33