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There is a silence in the world that will always fill with music from another creature’s story.
While you sit, someone else is standing.
While you eat, someone else is starving.
While you live peacefully in one day, someone else is dying an intolerable death.
As I clean and scrub the blood from the floor of a life I wanted no involvement with;
I wonder, do people think of me?
Do they care for my story that I cannot live without nor live within?
Do the humans of today care about my demons that are eating me from the inside?
Somewhere I became cold and I refused to listen to the music anymore.
I became emotionless, if only to survive in this Underworld.
Can anyone else hear the music?
