Sickle Tooth!

[I] I am the shadow that won’t catch the rain. The hunger’s gone, but something else remains— The weight of every link within these chains.

[1] The moon is just a stone now, cold and white, It lost its pull the day I left the light. No silver burn, no cracking of the bone, Just silence where the marrow used to groan. I do not howl; the air has grown too thin, I’ve outgrown the cage of fur and skin. (Hallow!)

[C] I was the hunger in the shadow’s breath, Now I am the quiet hand of death. No pack to lead, no heart to beat or break, I am the ripple on a frozen lake. Trading the fang for the edge of the glass, Watching the seasons and centuries pass— I was a beast that the living would dread, a hand in your family’s stead, that waits for forsaken dead.

[2] The river doesn’t rush, it only sighs, Reflecting coins on gray and sunken eyes. I don’t remember warmth or how it felt, To watch the winter mountain-snows melt. I drag the tether, I collect the debt, A mind of salt, a soul that can’t forget— But cannot feel. The scythe is part of me, An anchor dragging through a shoreless sea.

[C] I was the hunger in the shadow’s breath, Now I am the quiet hand of death. No pack to lead, no heart to beat or break, I am the ripple on a frozen lake. Trading the fang for the edge of the glass, Watching the seasons and centuries pass— I was a beast that the living would dread, a hand in your family’s stead, that waits for forsaken dead.

[B] No teeth to tear, just a blade to divide, There is no place for a predator to hide. I am the echo of a long-faded bark, A flickering match in an infinite dark. The hunger is gone, replaced by a task: To peel back the face and find the mask. (Grim!)

[3] The silver pulse that used to guide the chase, Is just a ghost-light in this hollow space. I pass through villages like morning mist, A name forgotten, a hand that’s never kissed. I watch the firelight through the windowpane! The living dead have no lives- and -no names!

[O] They say I was a man, then a wolf, then a ghost, But I am the fog on the desolate coast. Don’t pray for mercy; I’ve forgotten the word, The last sound you’ll hear is a wing—not a bird. I was the wolf... now I am the wait. (Open the door!) Close the gate!