You couldn't hear it and neither did I.
Between the tip of a white edged nail
And ridged skin - you can't hear it cry.
Who moved? And crawled... and twitched.
Red. Red. Red. You can't see the red.
It isn't fun - not if I say so -
But if you listen really well, it's something well-fed.
Who's trembling? Who's not really there?
It was - it was - but it's not. Not now.
Silent and still - and undeniably killed.
Well-fed, and empty, and wondering how.
