Murder

A murder gathers like a storm

From fear itself it does take form

My sense of self does start to slip

And then the tipping point does tip

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In tantalizing terror’s grip

I start, myself, apart, to rip

For underneath my star-scarred skin

Is evidence that we are kin

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But just as I try to begin

I am denied, to my chagrin

And my words get lost in the wind

As if, against the world I’ve sinned

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Before, myself, I could have skinned

My arms behind my back were pinned

And I see death’s jaws open wide

In this, my hands were always tied