The sound of silence resonates in a frequency that her soul hears

Draining her life force slowly

Painfully

With every breath

Inhaling the toxicity of their words

Exhaling her happiness

Watching it slip through her fingers

Like a ribbon falling through the cracks of an unstable foundation

Leaving her void

Tears trapped behind eyes that are too tired to cry

She sleeps with eyes still awake

Waiting for something to change

Hoping it comes

Before her body breaks

Painting the room in brilliant crimson

And her mind in black

Okay guys, I'm here at home thinking to myself that tonight I'll be a sensible man, tonight I shall chill and for the first time this week stay indoors and have an old fashioned night watching television.

After all, it's Saturday and most people are relaxing and enjoying their free time in front of the box. Saturday night equals prime time viewing so naturally the pick of the weeks' television will be tonight.

Wrong.

Repeats of two thousand year old quiz shows, old episodes of some long forgotten soap. Oh, yes, it's a re-run of Scary Movie! It was hilarious the first time I saw it, it was just so funny the second time I saw it, it was jolly good fun the third time I saw it, but not again!

I grab the remote and channel hop, there has to be something good on, oh, guess what, it's Simon 'Codpiece' Cowell with Britain's Got Talent, surely that should prove entertaining, but NO it's the same format as every other talent show that's been aired since the year dot, but with different jugglers.

The bile starts to fester in my thoughts as I hit a different channel and on and on and.....

That's it. I need a drink. I'm going out to find some fun.

And she taught me how

she used her tears as daggers

as diamond-studded stilettos

trickling down her cheeks

through my ribs

to the heart

She showed me how

to weaponized those crying

eyes and magnify her pain so

mine would be trivialized

whenever I was bold enough

to open my mouth and

speak of it

She found the target that was

my guilt and gleefully pulled

the trigger so the bleeding

hole grew bigger if her words

so much as disagreed with

mine

She ran forward to thrust her

nails into the wounds and

made them wider so they would

accept grit and grime

And every time she wished my

silence she could smash her fists

against infected lesions and I’d

tense my aching jaw

But ah, my prodded heart grew

callouses and the tears lost their

power to make my gut twist

and writhe in loathing of

myself

And the ‘I’m sorry’s’ are pre

recorded to be played back when

necessary and while they leave

her satisfied I am hollow as I let

them fly past lips and unclenched

teeth

From all the things she has shown

me I have grown to learn instead

to keep my own eyes dry.

Let's get one thing straight: I'm not crazy. I never was crazy.

They just want you to think I am.

They've locked me up in here because they don't want me to share the truth. They want to keep the truth locked away so no one will freak out.

But I will get out.

I will tell the truth.

I will tell everyone what is really going on.

Even if everyone thinks I'm crazy and doesn't believe me, I still will have done my task: informing them.

Someone help.

Please.

I am alone.

I have no one.

I am trapped.

The door is locked.

It's been a while since I've eaten.

There's only one window.

There's not a bed.

Only a chair.

The air is thick with blood and shame.

There's no way out.

I'm in pain.

Call for help.

Send aid.

I don't know what to do.

I'm not okay.

Living like this is insanity,

Why can't everyone see the blatant lie,

That's in their face,

All day, every day,

Nonstop?

I can't stand it anymore,

Change is needed,

Before we have another Holocaust on our hands,

Before there's another Hitler,

And before someone decides a group of people are less than human.

We need a change,

Before it's too late;

And I fear that it may indeed,

Already be too late.

- Michael Hall

O moon, ye rise and I howl like the animal I am. Yet, it isn't because of your power or my nature. No, my cry is in pain, as I deteriorate internally. I want to break my shell to prove, that it'll break before I do. Unfortunate truth, it would break, and without its use or ability to be used, I would decide to break. I do not wish to be confined to aiding its relief in medicines and I don't wish to opt for surgery. I wish I could be quiet about something that can't kill me, but its the pain sometimes that reminds me I'm alive and working for it.

Funny how the sounds we make as we’re leaving don’t travel with us. The slamming of a door or the way your breath catches in your throat when you can't say goodbye, they echo in this place. But it’s not funny, not at all really it’s a kind of heavy heaving sorrow that we can’t quite grasp and since we can’t take it with us- we leave it behind. Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone with all of this clamor.