by James G Piatt
If I were you I'd forget the trails of blood
flowing from her eyes, while his laughter
taunted you, and his hands glowed covered
with gore.
I were you I'd forget the shadows of the
event wavering in your mind like bloody
butterfly wings, as your pangs of sorrow
flowed into the space between life and
death:
If I were you I'd forget his plaintive
whispers drawing her into death. Forget the
dark fiend, with his eyes filled with an eerie
strange glow as darkness closed in on your
memories of that horrifying night.
If I were you I'd forget the horrible visions
in that abandoned cemetery, where rivers of
blood flowed between broken tombs, and
into cemetery paths.
If I were you I'd forget the sight of him
digging a grave, and tasting metallic anger
as you remembered his pick pounding into
her brain, over and over again.
If I were you I'd forget hearing her sweet
voice, which caused you to be suspended
between breath and death, forget her cries of
fear when she looked up from the grave and
watched his pick coming down upon her
head, splitting her brain.
If I were you I'd forget her life ending as his
pick sunk deeper, and deeper into the flesh
of her brain and she crumbled into the
bloody grave he had dug for her, becoming
just another piece of flesh and broken bones
for worms to eat.
If I were you I'd forget spending the
remaining hours of your life thinking of his
evil act and weeping at the visions of your
friends splintered brain when your mind
wanders back and forth between reality and
unreality, for such dreaming will lead to
insanity.
