walking in the dead
blades folding fast underfoot
so quiet, so quiet
i could hear my breath

i crossed paths
i should have seen its silver steps
but instead broke the air
with a crack like thunder

i could swear i heard a scream
in eggshells and yolk

i could swear i heard a scream
in sticky wounds exposed
and evaporating

but the night wears a mantle
heavy and apathetic
and i, painting death beneath my soles,
walked on.