This is the last to the trio of Perpetrator and Victim. This is now the bystander.
The pain and fight,
A wind is slowly dying,
And the struggle to speak,
You all lose it all.
You stood and stare,
Like deer in the headlights you are.
Too scared to move.
But instincts tell you its all right.
Your head is lowered,
Too frightened to see the truth,
For the ghosts of the dead haunt you.
They tear and grab with rotting hands,
Clutching your throats and eyes,
Making you feel handicapped,
Needing assistance from others.
But no one comes to you.
Anyone would leave you be.
In the grave except your bleeding heart,
Now in the hands of the victims,
And later taken by the perpetrators.
If you don't help,
Descending the lives of the dead will travel.