Mass Murder

I am wandering through a black maze,
peering at the decapitation around me.
I step over pieces of anatomy's puzzle,
over arms, and legs, and bloodied heads.

War spoke its words and left its breath,
stale and yellow; the rotten stench of death.
My unwashed face is dipped in red jewels,
My muscles are tense, still ready to defend.

Glossy eyes stare down from the trees,
sneaking into my soul with raw conviction.
I can taste their flesh in my dry mouth,
Gone bad from the effects of death.

I am tip toeing through the aftermath,
clearing the soot from my memory.
My heart stops and crumbles when a voice speaks out:
"Why did you do this to me?"

My eyes fall to the knife in my hand,
decorated with lost life and insanity.
There has been no war in this black maze.
Of every one of these deaths, I am guilty.