Ghost

We walk,

with holes in our skulls and knives in our hearts.

There's blood,

is it mine, or yours? We cannot tell anymore.

We've got rope burn around our necks,

open gashes down our chests

We've died in many ways, you know

but somehow we're still living.

They killed us all,

each and every one of us.

Did we deserve it? Perhaps.

No one will ever know.

We walk,

with missing limbs and cut off heads.

Around our feet the blood forms a pool,

a never ending ocean of vivid red

that grabbed our ankles and pulled us in.

We're drowning,

drowning in a sea of blood.

When we rest we can feel it,

feel the gun to the gut,

the pillows pressing down on our faces.

We never speak of it,

it's forbidden, you see.

All we have is the scars on our bodies

and the muttering of our slumber.

And the never ending torrent of blood

falling like rain from the cracked open heavens

and there's nothing we can do

but walk