Fallen Ones
As dawn rose,
coughing blood blew out,
and cells decomposed.
I, the Octa, or the circle of eight characters
who carried my own memories
and seven other characters’,
remained confused
by life as I tasted its sorrow,
and time passed by.
While grieving for unfair death,
I made my way into the cemetery.
I carried the world’s disgrace.
Feeling that the world was colder
than fear itself in a sense,
I hoped to show this existence:
that killing each other is no better
than just action like a rightful penalty,
and, being a messenger,
I should start over.
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