1400
The pavement is dark tonight,
Yet it is so colorful,
The crimes committed here seem so atrocious,
Yet to the person who committed them,
These are not acts of violence,
They are works of art.
The idea of this job is so inhuman,
Acts of a horrible nature are constantly committed,
Yet, a blind eye is always turned,
The more this job is done,
The more numb the feelings for morality become.
However, tonight the felling is cold,
A gut wrenching twist of emotions,
A never ending intrusion of negative thoughts,
The person who lies here,
Was my own,
She was sanity in the dark times,
The voice when everything was silent,
The one who loved.
Now she is gone,
The world has taken her away,
and now,
I am just another detective left without a clue.
