The meek are deceased, they searched for shelter, not knowing they were already asleep in their own graves.

Sharp axes, bitter toasts. Blood adorning the perpetrator’s wrists like stolen jewelry.

Behold the masterpiece one more time before vanishing through the cracks in men’s justice.

No faces. No expressions. After so many blows, nothing remains but shoulders, teeth, hair and redemption.

Through destroyed flesh I see clearer. Through ravaged tissue I no longer tremble.

I am not afraid.