His mask,
Starchy white.
No different from his face,
Emotionless, unessential and plastic
His strides,
Slow and frigid,
In no rush to commit the sins
In his hands,
An alarmingly sharp blade
Shiny, it gleams in the night’s dim light
Prepared to slice through his sister’s skin
Prepared to cut through her soft flesh
Prepared to pierce into her life and end it abruptly.
He’ll do it at a snail’s pace and at a silence that is inhumane,
For he is lifeless
Unlike you and me born for unknown innocent purpose
He was born to reach such a severe ambition no human can naturally take
In this tragedy
He lost his face
He lost his expression
And he lost his life.
He is the lifeless, who preys on life.
