Escaping the forgotten

Sometimes I can't escape the forgotten.    
Their screams splitting my progress      
startled cavernous and keening.    
The moon heeds their footsteps;    
his darker faces mystical,    
and grin slanted dynamite      
with a fire growing steadily      
in his intentions.      
     
Crying wolf into secluded silences,      
their voices echo until sound      
waves roll back into the shore      
of their harboring mouths.      
Nobody ever has enough life to listen,      
the wolf blithely devouring them all.    
I live as an exception,      
imprisoned blood impaling      
its fists into my body's      
apathetic walls.      
     
Admittedly it took me a while to notice,      
though empty mirrors and a hundred death ears      
offered all the agonizing hints needed.    
I have my time and place to die      
stapled into deaths diary on      
a florescent yellow memo.    
This isn't it.    
     
They came for me on a Monday sunrise.    
Although my shell and memory were taken,    
I had planted my heart into the ground.    
Maybe it'll grow into someone      
worthy of remembrance.