The Heartless

The tidings of night bring a fresh smell:
Pacifist hearts, with no thought of bloodshed.
It is a dream worth re-living, but a mindset...
That rips at me, and I rip back.

The men and women lay asleep,
Huge wooden boxes, with huge wooden wheels
Lay scattered, in a semblance of a circle.
I rip - The pacifist heart,
And embrace it to its death,
Soft warm gooey flesh breaking against my teeth.
The pacifists heart is not a bad heart,
And the easiest to get,
Thus I must eat my fill;
A creature like me has to eat too,
And I'm lazy, and they're easy.
O' how I'd love to be the pacifist,
No worries for war, or pain or suffering.
I rip - and they don't rip back.
But others do.
They chase me with firearms
That crack violently, and hurt me.
O' how I'd love to be a pacifist,
With a warm heart, full of kindness,
And giving, and respect of responsibility.
I rip - and my heart gives way,
Screams erupt, my legs have play,
Wobbling, head full of pain,
Everything's louder, blood starts to rain.
O' how I'd love to be a pacifist,
With a small chance of a ripe heart,
And with a wolf pack hot on my heels.