spending nights counting silent calls
mine, theirs
sifting through pages of hell
only to grasp a realization
of all the pages missing
all the pages never written
the undocumented threats
the tearing of skin
the forming of a bruise
the mental hell
that will never be known
911, the police, social services
empty promises
last resorts that
turn hope into nightmares
where are the beautiful stories?
the child sitting in his room
hearing his mother's pleas
hearing glass breaking
love shattering
becoming molded
forever haunted
trivialize, victimize
mouths become things to hit
things to silence
things to suffocate
things to ignore
another hole to fuck
where is the collective scream
of "enough!"
the trail linking empty roads
driven by battered souls
they would consume the world
where are the hands linked?
escaping bondage
the silence of shame
where are these memories stored?
these haunting visitations
where is the escape?
stepping backwards
numbness wavers and each day
subconscious diggings of
over-grown graves
is it suffering that links us?
or the fact we're actually alive?
are we all surprised when we awake
and unimpressed by falling thunder?
will we always carry weapons
made of steel, concealed?
(but easy to reach)
is there hope in trust?
self-love and these hours spent
crying, screaming, numb
trying to love again
it will never stand still
as much as we may desire it
freedom becomes a distant dream
can it be found?
these nightmares
living nightmares
dying nightmares
if it is so slyly reached
what flags can be trusted?
it began red,
but for how long was it white?
even stained scarlet
our minds denied our heart
our minds had fallen
into a rhythm
dancing blindly to the uneasy beat
of fear, confusion
and fraudulent love
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