Speak to me in whispers
I can’t... HEAR you
Scream to me introspectively
Ideological torture meets psychological abuse.
Domestic terror. Means here. Personal.
Streams of blood paint dust-lined memories
Across the lives of the broken shattered beaten
Speak to me in whispers
Purple and red marked bruises bleed blue and green
Pus-filled festering hatred etching ruin
Across bodies- chalk lines around eyelids,
For our vision is dead,
Footprints fall like sandbags across the shoulders of the world,
And I have killed pain.
Numbing verbal blows, physical lows
With knives playing connect-the-dots across
Each line a silenced scream,
Red stop lights like an EKG run periods
Across my brain; Stop.
We run desperate like a train wreck from a cyclone,
Tearing apart our own hearts like
Cannibals, we prey on our own sin.
Positive feedback loops run parallel to our mental condition.
Deteriorating, savaging, dismantling
What’s left of our clock-wound egos.
We tick down seconds until the bomb goes off,
Try to disable me, and the statistics read
99.9% chance of detonation.
Let me free!
Death haunts me like a shadow,
Good friend whispers promises to my ears of a better tomorrow.
You can hear his smoke-filled voice, breathing seduction
Into my soul,
We do not fly, we fall.
But falling is only a way of flying vertically, right?
Maybe if I cut this line deeper,
Pop one more pill,
Take the chance to pull the trigger...
Will I be an angel too?
Will God, Allah, Jehovah, Buddha, Krishna welcome me with arms
Wide for children who suffer?
Will my death be remembered as a choice for freedom
Or as simply another statistic.
We are the casualties of a disjointed world.
Puzzle pieces who have lost their place long ago,
We walk alone.
Each life taken is a life lost.
Shaking hands hold inadequately loaded rifles
Packed with bullets of saline and screeching pellets.
Spray hatred from your fingertips like seeds,
Spit on our graves with your dismissal,
Deny us, why don’t you?
Do you remember that we are children too?
The fast-twitch muscles expire easily.
we are broken, lost, scared...
are we alive or simply living?
Survival by the skin of our teeth means biting into something more,
Clinging to the edge of the cliff,
Desperately trying not to fall.
But god, I can’t handle the blackness anymore,
I need a hand to hold the candle.
Pick me up from the claustrophobic wardrobe and throw away
The trash-filled speeches that litter the floor of my conscience.
Remind me who I am and carry
My form back to the light.
Our eyes wide shut,
Sights I was never meant to think
Cycle through my cerebrum on replay.
God! I’m tired...
Erase my memories, personality.
Give me a clean slate to be born with.
The weight of the world was not enough to crush
The dreams I had of one day being nothing.