Inspired by "There Sat Down, Once, a Thing on Henry's Heart" by John Barryman

There sat, a thing, in place of Henry’s heart,

Its fangs draining each drop.

If he had one hundred years and more,

In all that time, weeping, sleepless,

Henry could not ignore.

Starts again always in Henry’s mind

A whisper somewhere, a murmur from behind.

With open eyes, Henry attends, blind.

All the bells say: too late.

This is not for tears.

Wait.

But never did Henry save anyone

As he hoped he would.

His hands, hack, hack, hack.

The whispers, murmurs, in control:

“Hide the pieces, where they may be found.”

He knows. He went over everyone,

And nobody’s missing.

Often he reckons, in the dawn,

Nobody is ever missing.

Until now.