• The eyes water
    As the air seems to fade
    Everyone gathers for the slaughter
    And he sharpens his blade
    Words echo the room
    Their voices holding laughter
    The dust being swayed by the broom
    Yet not soon after
    Your own voice begins to wake
    As he stands with his blade
    Cutting a piece of a grand cake
    And a soft melancholy played
    You notice the scars like no other
    As if you weren't alone
    Let the love from the ones around you smother
    For in the mirror formed your own clone
    Its wicked grin seeing into your soul
    And then he, himself, set the piece of cake beside you
    So you may eat it whole

    *chuckle*
    And soon, you begin to see your own shoe