the dark putrid space inside him
where empathy was supposed to be
there was death there
dreams of bosch
saturn devouring his son
mother violence
like a tide of red ghosts lapping at toes
saying more than words ever could
the maul knew dark things
how it could sate an urge for ill will
how it could make quick work
of a human skull
and so
one day
it did
three of them
and at random
no pattern, just chaos
just pure, violent, blood spattering death
a gift of gore to the watchful moon
the maul knew what to do
he casually turned himself over to the police after
before they even knew what he'd done
what the maul had wrought
there were three of them
a completed work
a trinity
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