17...
Feels like being
Under
One thousand nine hundred ninety six bricks.
And it hurts enough
Breathing.
That lungs have learned not to need so much air.
As the weight of it all
Sets me further
And further into the ground,
It hurts to cry,
So instincts taught me
To live
Under pressure
Without tears.
Inside out
Ice crystals converge
My body frozen
Frigid.
Like ice sickles
Hanging Fragile
Easily broken
Shivering in the madness
Of trying to keep sane.
The convulsions,
Only wear the earth below
Faster, and I sink deeper
And in my mind I'm screaming
But the
Yells
Turned to whispers.
There's nothing golden about this silence,
Here,
(Tombstones will read)
Lies a girl too frail to hold the world
On her shoulders
Once bones decide
To not withstand
Any longer.
There's no way of knowing
You've been heard,
That your screams turned whispers
Will save you,
The blood rushing to your brain
Has clogged your ears
The exhaustion of staying alive
Has stolen your voice.
These bricks
Are thieves
And no one can testify
Against them.
The prosecution
Rests its case,
Because the only witness to the
Crime
Is barely hanging on
Clinging and hoping
She outlasts
These bricks,
These thieves,
These lies
Piled
On top of lies,
On top of a girl
Who can’t move
Under the massive
Load.
Like nails on a chalk board
The sound of
Bones crushing
Is so vile
Its unbearable,
And after all the silent
Screams
She emerges a pile
Of dust
Tragically
Insignificant.
The jury proclaims
Not guilty.