Cold, Alone, It walks away
Its tortured mind has become the prey
Now It becomes the demented, The killer
No one who laughed enjoys this new thriller
The smiles die down, The screams rise up
After being the victim for too long, It has had enough
It hopes they enjoy every last bit of this
It finally smiles like them at the sight of dead bliss
Warm, filthy blood covers Its hands and fingertips
The kiss of death, Crimson washes Its pale lips
Its innocence is gone because It played in their game
The world and It is covered in pathetic shame
Passing on this curse, This rage, This fit
In this game of tag, I am It
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Wolf's Poetry
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