Her blood had boiled, her eyes had flared,
She had moved further than she ever dared,
The knife she carried, clasped in her hand,
Her knuckles whitened, aches in her palm.
She unpocketed cloth, wiped clean the blade,
Walking from that place, she was unafraid.
She feels no remorse, she feels no sorrow,
For the now dead body, its head run hollow,
Nor for any others she murdered in hate,
She brought them her knife, well-deserved fate.
Now they were dispatched, she felt not a thing,
No happiness, no relief, did her acts bring.
Satan may take her, her soul was long lost,
She destroyed those men, regardless of cost.
This was a punishment, they all had to suffer,
Yet her mission done, she now had none other.
She had won nothing, fulfilled no demands,
Only loneliness, death, and blood on her hands.
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