Iron on iron
Blood clings to the blade
As the killer stumbles
Through the alleyway.
“Oh God,”
Come the frosted, whispered words
Rising and dissipating
In the air above his head
“I’m the one that’s dead”
“I’m the one that’s dead”
Face hidden behind
Expressionless hands
Removing the mask
That’s stuck to his face
Tearing it off
A spineless face
For a faceless spine
Taking life
When life is unbearable
Denying the truth
And blaming the mask
That he left in the dumpster
“The past is the past”
Written in blood
On the cold prison wall
A Life in Poems 