Tuesday, November 9, 2004
(03) - Rise Of The Dead
Cold to the bone-
Forces a scream through her parched lips.
She is not now what she once was,
But all memories of that former life
Purged by the horror of her transformation.
Now, she is empty:
A shell, with only a trace of humanity left.
Empty, but for that gnawing hunger-
The unholy appetite which has plagued
All of her new kindred for all of eternity.
She exists now on instinct.
Her change, having cleansed her
Cleansed her of emotion.
She is now free,
More free than any has ever been,
Though she does not know it-
She has been driven mad by the voices
And the hunger in her soul.
He was old,
But she is new,
And her strength is yet unknown.
She stands there,
Over his body.
The final shred of her humanity
Screams against her,
For what she has done. But it fails,
And she is no longer human.
She is changed.
The sound of people approaching
-The sun draws near.-
She hides, in the dark,
Withdrawing into the night.