The Victim
Down by the river on a thursday night.
I was walking along the mushy shore.
River smell of water, fish, breezes.
I came across a small cove, hidden within a thicket of trees.
There inside sat alone upon a rock, the corpse of a victim.
The victim stared, bloated from water, out to the rivers edge.
Its skin mushy like the shore below.
Rotting white flesh stank of fish the same, no breeze in the cove.
Its mouth was full of seaweed and stagnant blood.
And the hair was matted and moldy full of dirt.
Knife wounds on the bloated body,
indicated the victim died a death seen not by many.
Horror, pain and suffering, alone except for the murderer.
Climbing to sit on a stone in the water as death approached.
The eyes reflecting the final terror of death.
The The Victim by Lurking Fear, unless otherwise expressly stated, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.