Mayhem sweeps through the earth,
indiscriminately blowing ill winds,
trashing crowded places,
leaving rubble in his wake
as the streets begin to tremble,
rumble as buildings tumble.
His menacing hoarse whispers
heard everywhere,
by all trapped in corners of fear,
as another dark cloud descends,
raining new rivers of blood
from dark crimson skies.
The rats ravage among the waste,
a child cries forlorn,
as nerves turn to steel
from the replay and repeat,
the distance of the blast
or just impotence with no hope.
Hands thrown in the air!
Why should we care?
Still he winds through busy streets,
He breathes into the air.
He holds his own compass
and sometimes runs on autopilot.
Those who have seen him
tell of a merciless face,
sometimes a hooded neighbor
whom you thought you knew,
now dressed in disguise,
a murderer before your eyes.
Chevvy's diary 