Among Killers

I was born into killing,
into loving the killers,
I lived in a killing. I 
breathed murder, I slept
on a pillow of carnage
and gore, but because I knew
nothing else, I never
slept so well in my life.

I woke from that
and lived among those
who gentled me.  I learned
of something beyond
easy blooding,
and when I slept 
I stirred often in my sleep
now and again for fear of
the killing’s return.  

Now, after small sleep,
I am back among killers,
born again to the circle
of slaughter. I recognize 
the scent, the thick, sick
air; this time, though, I have
a taste of what it could mean
to know nothing of this, 
and I thank stars and moon
I will never be able
to sleep again.