The Killer's Shell

Perfectly constructed paper mache - how the injury laid to rest while the demon played.

How you wished one day you could feel, but the blood in your mind was all too real.

The masks you hung from faces and flowers started to fuse into all your hours.

A house of mirrors and phantoms congest the mind you once controlled but now is dead.

Tiny little shells are left in the wake and you can only hunger for the next take.