Pity Me Not

All I have left are my bones, everything else ripped away. Nothing to give because nothing was ever given. They left me hanging here, got sick of waiting for me to fall apart and fall down. But here I sway, there can be no question as to how indivisible my bones are. Sleepless night for one and all, if it was only known what my skeleton dreams of.


I don’t know my name. I don’t understand why I’m still here, pressed to these bones. Why didn’t I fall away like everything else long ago? Dust is the only thing freed from the end of this rope.

I don’t know my name. I don’t understand how I can feel this weight pressing down on me. How I can know that poison fills every piece of me. That there is much work to be done.

I don’t know my name. I don’t understand the lack of loss for all the things stripped away. Was it all just a cloak with a name? Could I be, have I always been the Skeleton with in?


There must be Nothing:
The goal that defines the poison in me. The phrase that burns at the core of every bone that makes the skeleton me.


There must be Reason:
It’s not a question, it is looking for an answer. Four simple words but they weigh everything, a weight on me.


My right hand reached up and grabbed the rope from which I sway. The forces that burn within me, that try to crush me, could agree on one thing – here I can no longer stay. So with one hand my Skeleton did lift, and with the other, it freed my neck from the rope that will forever be a home to it. I cried out but there was no sound to be made. A reminder that only my indivisible Skeleton remained. Pushed by the needs of Nothing and Reason, my work begins.

The Bystander

The Earth cried out, the Sun had not set but darkness marched across the horizon. Every step into earth, I tried to make like knives were plunging into it. All it ever offered were scavengers and then nothing. There was a bystander for very day I swayed, the Earth was the first. Washed its hands of any reason to bury me. Six underground, now and forever those clean hands will wish for this indivisible Skeleton to be.

Vast, Vicious, and Unforgiving

My anger is vast, vicious, and unforgiving. The poison in me feeds it, the weight on me encases it. It begins and ends at every point I do. I can’t say it consumes me, it is me, my bones are made of it. I know of words that say I should not do as I do, move as I move. But I have no mind to consider them, no eyes to see them, no ears to hear them. My reach will be vast, I will be vicious with those who watched, unforgiving with all in my path.

Seeking Darkness

I should not seek darkness, literally or figuratively. My trinity cares for no other way, it sees its self as darker than the darkness. Planning for things that would scare the darkness aside, it is sure it can see the way.

I should not seek darkness, but it is how I must find my way. This indivisible Skeleton is not something meant to be seen by day. The Sun’s rays are only added weight, odd how the light is always hard to take.

I should not seek darkness, you cannot hide in it, you can only become it. My trinity believes I can survive this. To feel the fear of those that left me hanging. When something darker than the darkness steps out of it.

There Was A Warning

I stepped out of the darkness and a wave of terror was not my greeting. My return had no witnesses, I arrived to an empty village. With dead flowers and rotten fruit, what could not run… died.

I dug my hands into the Earth and it rolled and shook, razing ever building. The sight of it lacked satisfaction, the earth cried, I returned my hands to the air.

There was a warning. They chose to be fools and believe that running will lead to getting away. Forever is the only way to be consumed by vengeance. More time only lets me refine how my work will be done.


It pushes down on every inch of me, suffocating so I suffer unable to suffocate. I can see the effects, this is no trick I play on me. There is a weight on everything around me. If it is within reach and bends, it bends away from me. There must be reason and it presses be on me in search of it. Things that should not speak cry out answers, all in the hope to be free of it. Consumed by fear they will be crushed, I am begged to move along, they have no answers for me. It is not understood that to simply destroy all is not the reason of it.

Wheel Man

Can it be anything other than a cart if it makes its way by wheel? Has it improved in anyway that matters, if the loss of one leaves it’s owner at my mercy? I have before me a Bystander with the pace of a fever trying to fix his wheel. If there were two he would be gone, but if it was not him another would be with in my reach.

My hand on his shoulder and it snaps by the weight on me. He tries to crawl, but his feet can not escape the need that flows off me. There must be reason and it creeps over every inch of him. I know he screams but it can not move me, I stand by as he did for me.


It swallowed me whole. Hoping to make up for past mistake, hoping to save lost souls? But my bones are poison that it can not hold. Death slowly creeps by way of every direction from me. The earth above me dying with out reason, my burden still finds me. It can not take me deep enough to escape the weight that holds me. Surly and all to easily a deserts expands above me. I wait calmly guessing at its intentions for me. Is this a grave it offers, or an attempt to delay me?


The loss of one life caused the Earth to swallow me. Its regrets can not buy forgiveness for leaving me hanging there. In the short time it was able to stomach me, a sea of sand washed over the land. I can see for miles, it is a mirror to me, nothing lives here anymore.

Its sacrifice will have no end, sand and winds fall before the weight on me. I do not understand how, but I know the place of each I seek. They are a compass that can lead me through any storm the Earth may choose to have fall upon me.

I do not look back, a glass road forms with every step I make. If I ever have need, I can use it to find the grave offered to me. A hang-man serves as my compass through this sandstorm. His death shall be a reminder to the Earth, there is no stopping me.


The storm fell away and I did not notice till I saw the masque being played. Every passer-by I cross paths with has chosen the same mask for their face. With different people in a different place, I find the same play. None play it as nice as the villagers. They can not, their eyes see my unfiltered face.

I know that look and now I know it is fear. It was prettied up with a smile when I was dressed in flesh. But it is the same look the only look I have ever seen on another’s face. I see now there is no masque being played. What species of monster am I, that not even my pretty flesh could hide what I am a way?

Honest Mistake

There is a animal known as an Honest Mistake. It knows not malice or intent towards it’s victim, for it is only chance that brings them together. It is in this animal argues an Executioner, beaten and bleeding before me, I shall find my true persecutors. I had not considered this, so as he gasps for life I did.

I remember it all, hanging there dead but not gone. My audience never asking “what have we done”. An Honest Mistake does not take what is yours. Kick down your door at the brake of dawn and drag you into the light. Has no children to tell stories to about how much safer they are.

Reason fell upon him with out question, with out mercy. His argument a lie, a transparent attempt to save his life. An Honest Mistake takes no time to justify what was done. Could not have stood and stared, it would not have known I was there. What they did was not honest nor a mistake, it was organise.


If I could rip the world apart and remake it. I would rebuild it out of consequences. I will not except my injustice as one of those things that happens.


There is one between me and a third of those that left me to sway. With knees digging into the earth, face pointed to the sky. I can only assume no one ever told her, prayer is never enough. Mercy is not a name I answer to, yet she insist on calling it out. She begs for a moment and surprises me by not begging for her life. She asks me of God’s will, as to what kind of curse am I. Holding form she continues her prayer. So I know one thing, I will continue till God answers it.

The simple truth, I am no curse just the consequent of their actions. Unwilling to except my revelation, disbelief reshaped her face. I remind her they abandoned God long ago, his will has no protection for them anymore. She asks about forgiveness in haste. If it was as simple as forgiveness I might be tempted to forgive. However Nothing and Reason will not abide a world with out consequences and I side with them. I am however in need of witnesses, so I leave her to her prayers.


If I could fall down and fall apart, would I stay that way. If it was my sincere wish would the poison in me stop burning, could the weight upon me set it self free. If I could convince this indivisible skeleton to stay apart would my bones turn to dust. Could my anger disperse on the wind.

There is a question as to my commitment and there need not be. Questions fuelled by the same hope used to convince themselves, that running will lead to getting away. In wants that are unreal you find the sole source of hope, used to believe that Nothing and Reason have more to them than what they seek.

This end was set down when I was hung up. I don’t assume to have a choice in this. Any questions asked, or life spared, are for my own amusement. I can feel the poison in me and the weight upon me. Even if I differed I would not be the majority and they want to see how it ends.


“Murderer!”. They know my name, soon they will know me by every alias. Destruction, Terror, and Mayhem they have tasted as they scatter before me, trying to flee my wrath. Relentless and Merciless are names that will slip from their lips, as I pursue them one by one. I shall lay my hands upon them all, none will be left untouched. When all hope is lost they will cry for the Annihilator to be stopped. By way of their blood every name will be deserved. My actions proof, all prophecies are self-fulfilling.


All traps failed. The few that chose to face me, fell by the weight on me. I was every where I needed to be. Smiles of joy quickly turn to horror as they saw there was no escaping me. No matter which direction they chose to run they ran to me. Their mouths dropped like they had never seen this Skeleton before. The warmth on my hands can not stain my bones, I had no reason to hold back. They were heart less so I removed their hearts. Necks that once turned up to watch me hang found themselves snapped. In the time I conducted my slaughter I had the world I wanted, a world of consequences.


Only those chosen to be my witnesses were left. They staggered about, lost after crawling out from under the dead. They all found their way to the girl, still praying. Broken in a way that could not be fix. They wasted no time in deciding to leave her there.

I waited for them to choose their paths. To get a head of them would rob them of their purpose. They tried to do this themselves by attempting to leave together. So I took their faith in my hands once again. They have a story to tell, fear to spread.

With out a sound I was understood, pointing each in the direction they must go. Careful not to waste, my witnesses only number eight. With blood still dripping from my bones and death in the air. None dare argued and when forth to fulfil their purpose.


I pick up the pieces to see what I can make of them. She clings to a new prayer to undo what I have done. The old one now answered, the screaming stopped. Her regret at not being more careful in her wants, just one more piece I have to work with.

Taken apart to a point Reason saw no need to crush her. I resolve to not let the first and now last of my witnesses go to waste. I turn her towards my work, made her to look upon it. She tells me, it is God’s will. I tell her if that were true, he would have done it himself.

Broken now by my design, she finds no peace when she closes her eyes. Assured that she will forever be restless. I set her free to spread my tail seeking rest. Her choices are unkind ones. Choose between marching across the horizon or facing those that went before her.

Looking Glass

I looked into her eyes, I thought it wise to know my creation. They were not the window to her soul that I expected. In her place I found a looking glass. Made by way of her eyes and a soul now painted black. What I saw was this Indivisible Skeleton looking back. I denied it three times, like all mirrors she must now be telling lies. Her eyes can not know what they showed me. Shaken I toss her aside, it was one thing to know. It is another to see that I am little more than Nothing and Reason.


If she could she would lay there till she died. If she could out run death forever she would be running. There is no out come that can satisfy her. If the smell fails, then the dreams will push her. One or the other, something will move her.

She has no answer for why I remade her. With no explanation she can’t bear to face the dead just meters from her. Unlike the seven who walked, for her survival is not an end in it self. A choice can not be avoided, something will move her.

Vengeance can be liken to vapour, each lacking substance. Yet still can fill any space they find themselves in. I will not let my eighth witness go to waste. So I place a drop of my vengeance with in her. One way or the other something will move her.

In My Dreams

If I were a needle I would spin till dizzy, my cardinal points are many. I know each by something more true than their name. Accuser, Executioner, Bystander, Persecutor, Judge, these were the roles taken on the day of my hanging. They are now titles tied to them, beacons that light the way to my justice.

I did not wish to leave the Eight still laying where she came to rest. I wish my story to be told. I have no care to destroy the hope of those who have run far. In my dreams they live in fear, till I become fear realised. My death moves far to quickly for the loss of hope to cause the suffering they so richly deserve.

The Judge

The Judge is now before me, a victim himself of an unjust judgement. Held responsible for handing down the decision the mob wanted. He was cast aside, in the hope I seek only those that played major roles. They are unaware, there were no minor parts in my hanging.

He ran till there was no sign of pursuit, till he collapsed. Only to watch this indivisible Skeleton step out of the darkness. Judge not, that ye be not judged. No longer applies when one fines them self stripped of everything but their bones because of a judgement.

I find it unfair that he cries, that he knows his crime and can beg forgiveness. All I knew was confusion, no time to cry only desperately asking questions. I removed his eyes because they sicken me. I did not come here to torture, so I quickly removed his life.

Born Again

Your ruby lips may have made you new friends but did they tell why you were running. Why you needed to make a home in this place? This will not keep you safe, you robbed it of its sanctity the moment you stood upon it. I see disappointment fill your eyes. Are you surprised no lightning crashed from the sky to take me away? A child of God you may now be, but you are not the only one that changed. Or have you not notice only my Skeleton remains? I am sure that you soiled the waters you were baptised in. Did you think it would wash away? That if you were born again, you could begin a new with out sin? Is there truth in your heart, or will I be seeing you in hell? God may have forgiven you for your lies, for the arguments you made. I refuse to forgive, all must answer for my hanging. You could not hide from me. Now it is time for you to find out there is nothing that can be hidden from Him.


One by one, I do not run. My vengeance is not only forever it is patient. Time has no meaning in my hands. They hide, then cry when they find themselves found. False hope in false names, I deny their denials. Who can lay eyes upon me and believe I am a fool? The same fools that left me hanging. All conversations end the same — you are the one I am looking for. They protest till they die. My time at the end of the rope, always laid at the feet of another. I have no mercy for those that justify their acts by labelling themselves Follower. If you chose the jump, to not be alone, then you die like all the others.


I arrived annoyed. Seeking answers, with out which I can not understand how this question exists. There is death in the air and I am not the cause of it. I failed to consider the depts these people would go, to avoid their consequences. Before me proof, the villagers will do anything.

They took his blood for their own in the hope it would protect them. My Witness had done his job to well. Every retelling I am sure leading to his end. They believe that there was something about him I could not destroy. So desperate were they, none asked why they could kill him.

With his bones in their hands, hope, fear, and rage in their eyes. They have convince themselves they can take me apart with his pieces. That they can have some kind of revenge, in place of all I have taken from them. They should know some things, like their lives, can not be replaced.


I separated the bones of my witness and buried them. It was more than he deserved but I gave it to him anyway. In a short time they did to him what took forever to be done to me. They ripped away everything till all that was left was the skeleton within. When I held his pieces it angered me to no end. I could feel that unlike me, there was no longer any suffering for him. Whatever fear and disappointment he felt living through his own turning on him. Will never be enough to redeem the loss of not killing him myself. I take solace in the idea that the other witnesses only need to tell my tale half as well.


If I could kill them again I would, once was not enough. I wish I could have rip their souls from their bodies and cast them down, straight to hell. There is a bitter taste between this ivory jaw and I want to devour something to be rid of it. I can not shake the notion that they won something by taking me off my path. That even though all I have left is this indivisible skeleton, they still found more to take. It is a shame that death is a revenge I can only visit once upon them. Their acts have not only quicken their end it has changed my position to the pieces in play. The plan must change but the goals, my work remains the same

The Lawman

Doing the right thing, in no way ever frees the responsible party from death or consequences. I have vowed to be unforgiving with all in my path. But I did not make that solemn pledge to have an excuse to kill good men.

This pursuit in the service of Nothing and Reason, is a business of revenge. The man before me informs, he is in the business of upholding the law. He can not stand aside while men, women, and children are killed.

I ask again for him to step aside so I may do my work. To stop disbelieving what he sees with his eyes and consider why a skeleton stands before him. For in the end his choices are simple, it is him and them or just them.


Bystanders one and all, not just on the day but for every day I was left to hang. They chose to beg, falling silent when I showed them the blood of the Lawman still on my hands. Much was left unspoken as silence ruled them. There was nothing to be gain in being Sorry. For Sorry is something I seek to kill. The connection was made and they knew nothing could be said that would cause me to spare any of them.

Mercy turned away, she could not stand the sight of them. They tried to save their worthless lives by standing behind a man far better than all of them combined. A good man that would not do what they did. Be an accessory by standing aside and doing nothing while another gets killed. They must die for me, they must die for him. I will use every drop of their blood to wash his away, I want my hands clean again.

Blood Clings

The blood of my enemies dripped away as the blood of another clings to my bones like skin. As hard as I try there is nothing I can do to get the Lawman’s blood to fall away. Although I can still feel the weight on me and the poison that burns within. The force of Reason could not remove it and Nothing failed to consume it. His blood has a purpose, it does not want me to forget that my choice like his has consequences. I made my way to a river, I will not continue my journey in this state. The Earth anticipating my intentions sent the wind and what could be carried on it to keep me from entering it again. To me it was just a forceful breeze, the things it brought were no match for the weight that presses against me. It is the same lesson as before, there is nothing that it can do to stop me.


Without Reason, who am I?
Without Nothing, to much am I.
Lost am I, without this weight upon or the poison within.

Near Death Experience

The glimmering lights stopped glimmering. The weight is gone, replaced by something grinding, trying to shear my bones apart. It seeps in, the poison tries to burn it away unwilling to be extinguish. Devils and angels start questioning, demanding an explanation in terms of right from wrong. I will not justify. I am justified, my actions are in the name of vengeance. Right and wrong is the logic used by those in need of a path to do or not do a thing. My path is clear, guided by a sky that is always night filled with stars I will extinguish. In my certainty I find no room for fear. My skeleton is indivisible, my task inevitable, this attempt to destroy me will fail.


It should have destroyed me the moment it had me. The Earth felt joy, but I am sure the shaking came from the pain I caused. Swallowed again, this time on better terms for it. The water had rushed away trying to keep me from entering. Neither it or I considered the power I handed over by stepping into the river.

Reason withdrew, water will not compress and I needed to wash this blood that clings off myself. The Earth saw it’s moment and tried to use the river to crush me. It moved slowly to ensure it enjoyed dissolving me. Water pushed into my bones doing precious little to relieve the burning within. Without a doubt it had me.

Time was on my side, the Earth should have acted quickly. Nothing boiled the water that found it’s way in. Reason returned and pushed the river aside, leaving dry land for me to walk away from its bed. For my trouble the law man’s blood had washed away. It was good to be clean even though I can still feel the stains.

Wandering Stars

The darkness of my endeavour has created a pretender. It lacks the cool feel and comforting embrace of the original. Forgive those two errors and you have a night sky like any other. In it the wandering stars that light my way. I can watch them as they stray. They gather and scatter letting the stories of my witnesses find their way.

I shall pick every star from it, leaving it black, leave it to fade. When I am done only the constant stars will keep their place. I know one from another and there is no chance of mistake or escape. The pretender has an advantage in that sun light can not chase it away. The harsh light of day, can beat me down but can not hide them away.


The villagers cluster like sheep. Bright against the darkness it is as if they call to me. This set had plans not to be taken easily. They found  brigands, better called fools, to place as an obstacle before me. Upon the hands of these fools I could smell the gold and silver they counted but will never spend. I see them as I see their benefactors — unworthy of living. They had no higher principles in play, they did as they were paid. The quality of their honour showed in the quality of their blood, for it easily dripped away.


A flock that strays is a flock that chooses to abandon its shepherd. When they find themselves found by a lion. No wish, no matter how sincere can bring them back to the fold and protection of their master.

This flock now wishes, not aware wishes are words shape by to much hope and not enough meaning. Wishes can travel no farther than the sound that made them. An echo from those left to the mercy of their choices.

It is time to slaughter this flock and take it to market. Another payment to the earth for the time spent at the end of my rope. My every step could never be enough. The blood of this flock a gift, every drop an attack on it.

Miny Moe

I chose eight witnesses to see that my story is told. For to long there has only been seven. Robbed was I by monsters, by the kinsman of the three that cower before me. A replacement is needed with a story worth telling and these sheep have a story I want told.

The first stuttered, so was laid to rest. Left with an Accuser and a Bystander I rocked my finger between them. Each making their case for why it should not be them that falls. Neither offered his life for the other. Their only concern was diminishing their roll in my hanging.

The child’s rhyme I used for the choosing. Did not dictate the movement of my finger only when it would stop. When the rhyme came to its end, the Bystander found him self it. He continued to beg but I have no need for nine. I took his life, his friend took his roll and did nothing.


I set my new witness free. Sure that he is imprisoned by the knowledge that only time stands in between our next meeting. Filled with fear that seeps from every inch, the look of him is a story in it self.

The story I want told is the one in him. He will testify to the truth that now holds him hostage. Letting is kinsmen know that brigands make poor shepherds that no obstacle can stand in my way.

Sighting of this witness will be the dawn of reality. Faith placed in charms and rituals sold by confidence men, will be proven misplaced. They will be imprisoned by their fears, leaving them grasping at hope like it is air.


Blood is a warm comfort, begging for mercy as it slips on my bones. As it drips from my hands I know I am one body closer to completing my work. I would beat every drop from them if I could, it is a pleasure to be red from head to toe.

The Hero

When I meet death, I will fight her with a glass sword. So I wrote. Never once did I suspect that death would not come for me at all.

A young man with a glass sword in his hand stood before me. Someone had read my words and failed to understand their meaning.

He attacked and the sword was as affective as it was meant to be. Reason had stepped a side letting the blade strike me.

The hope his sword embodied escaped as the pieces crashed downward. There would be no hero’s return, his life now gone.