The Invisible (Pt.2)

Dragging a body into the street,
Its feet digging in quite deep,
The fine crisp winter mix,
Now scarred by the dead man's feet.
No blood drained out of the fool's bag,
Thank the gods.
A trail that would be,
And quite long.
'In the woods we go to grandmother's house'.
He sang a jolly tune,
'To grandmother's house we go!'
The feet etching in their marks,
Like fingernails digging in to hold fast.
What was his name?
Stew? Stewart? Henry?
Doesn't matter,
He saw you.
Saw your face,
Your face?
You don't have a face,
Not anymore.
Spittle dampening the bandages,
FOOL!
A growl departs from thy lips remembering,
Remembering what?
You just ate fool,
Aye?
You be unseen but the food is not.
'Stuart--Henry--, you just had to come into my room,
AND WHILE I WAS EATING!'
He turned with a violence,
And cracked his fist over and over against the bag in a spurt of madness,
Until a sickening crack filled the wood.
Fool...
'You labored your being
Stop breaking this body.'
Again, he turned,
Gripping the end of the luggage bag,
With his one felled arm he dragged the body.
The trees calling out to his ears,
His invisible ears...
And so he be deaf to their tune.
They begged for his madness to end.
But the end was not yet, not yet dear Lord.
-----------------
(C)
By Aaron D.
12/03/12