There's blood on our hands
We choose to overlook We're destroying the lands Can't find these answers in a book We strive to organize Yet when it comes to our futures We choose to antagonize Just put in crooked sutures But maybe if we tried Put away our lance Pushed our differences aside We might have a chance Thought of someone but ourselves And straightened our stitches Checked again our goodness shelves Solved everything by inches Whether we think more or less Realize we're only human We all made a mess It's just the mark of the man Until then we'll resume Living in primitive ways Poisoning what we consume And wasting our days Meanwhile our time Seeps through like sand On our wounds we put lime Self-destruct on command. Behind that proud stride
Hides a broken fate Hidden in the fine clothing Is a victim of hate Just past those lips Lie secrets of torment Past those sparkling eyes Are tears unsent These stories untold To keep others happy So these flowers hide Hiding anything sappy Souls lost Emotions bare Fake everything The world is a snare They come.
They always do. Even if I spend all week inside, at the end of it there's always a sign. I don't know when it started. They just became part of my routine, however much I hate to say it. A hand. A foot. An eyeball. A bloody bone. Once there was even a full head, its skin cold and pale and clammy. The hardest part is hiding all of them. I can't drop all of them in my neighbors garden, or say there was someone chased into my house and murdered. I have never known where it came from, or who did it, or who the parts belonged to. The only hint I had was a stamp on each of them: A box, with the letters "AKY" in it. There was a great variety of colors it came in. I had no idea what it meant, until that fateful day. I was reclining on my couch, staring at nothing. Lately I had been feeling empty, lonely. I didn't know why. I had been alone for as long as I could remember. Why long for company now? Then, there was a harsh knock at the door, followed by yelling. With a sigh, I got up and opened the door. Even before my eyes could adjust to the sunlight, someone shoved me backwards roughly. They fumbled around for a second, only to come back with what had the glint of a knife. I felt an unbearable pain at my right pinky finger, then a sence of emptyness. I watched numbly as they took my pinky finger and stamped it with a blue box, the letters "AKY" inside. As they pocketed it and turned away, I managed to whimper a few words. "Who are you?" They turned their head so they could see me. "Always know yourself." Then they left. I'd mulled over these words for a long time, trying every method of thinking and reasoning. Then I started searching online. Then I found it. It was a group of victims, who had experienced much the same as I had, getting various body parts with a stamp, then finally getting one of their own removed. AKY, or Always Know Yourself, was evidently a group or organization with unknown goals. Always Know Yourself meant that you must recognize your own body parts when you receive them, and know that if that happens, you will die. Each color was specific to a certain person, and if they messed up the delivery, then they would kill you to keep their boss from finding out. The next day was Friday. I checked over the house, and finally found it, my package. A pinky finger with a blue stamp. As I type this the harsh knocking begins. Once, a father was walking with his baby, which was gurgling happily in its stroller, down a road that had a metal fence on either side.
For fun, the father released the stroller a bit, let it roll down the hill quickly and give his child a small thrill. He'd done it numerous times before. But something went wrong. The stroller swerved into the fence, and everything was a tangle. There was an almost inhuman screech coming from the mess. The father raced over and grabbed his child, cradaling it. Only then did he notice that the back of the baby's head was caved in. There was no way that it could still be alive. At that moment, the agonizing screech stopped. The child looked up at its father, and suddenly started giggling demonically. |
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