Three People.

On the night, last night, I heard of their deaths. I don't know them. But I met one.
I painted my face like The Crow, and I slipped on my coat. I walked out into the night, the road in the suburb where my mom lived. I walked endlessly with no purpose. I wanted it to rain desperately. To pour down on me, drown me even.

But the sky is not in my favor tonight. Not at all. I couldn't even see the moon. As to why I did what I just did, I offer no explination because, I don't know either. Kids I wish I could be your messenger of death and take you in my wings, and take you to a place where you are never hurt. To where you can both just be kids for the rest of your life and not have to live in a cruel grown up world.

I paint my face for you. And I...pray... for an easy afterlife for the three of you.
I cut into my skin for three people. I watch the lines blur into a stocking of red down my leg, staining the tub. Blood and paint blur.

If I could be your messenger of death, if I could be your justice, I would. But I can't. I'm sorry. I'll wear these scars for you instead.