Because the day will come
where they come for you
and all you love.
They better pray to their god,
and beseech their idols of control,
that they are as dangerous as I.

And there it is again
that feeling, that inescapable, tormenting
dread.
The quiet is a knife and my limbs are like lead.
Rocks in my stomach as air leaks from my
lungs,
and will not fill them.
I'm breathless and silent as the grave.
Waiting,
to be told that you made a mistake,
that it wasn't your fault
that it just happened
and you didn't want it to,
but you don't even want justice
for the things he did to you.
It tears me apart.
Heartbreaking
pain and hate
it's too late
to take back all the love, time, and life
that I poured and poured into us.
And you take his side
when I say how I feel.
You tell me
I'm overreacting

No

I am passionate
A man of action
I pay all my debts
and fulfill my promises.

And that's more than can be said
for you.

No one is coming.
No one is going to reach in and pull you out
of this dark pit
you've made your home
again and again.
No one is going to save you
from the shadows that visit in the night,
the demons that follow you in daylight.
No one is coming.
No relief.
No respite.
No rest.
No release.
No one is coming
for me.

And yet,
even as the world burned,
the children died,
the fathers wept,
the mothers cried,
there was hope brought
by every sunrise.
In every breath drawn,
the courage to take another.
The will to fight on
though we all
are doomed.

It is always there
underneath it all
the walls and barbed wire
the locked doors
this entire
facade
he wears every second
night and day.
Only slipping through cracks
when he's weak and he breaks.
Like when he pushes himself
to the end of his strength
so he can't hold the tears
he's refractured again.
Just a broken boy
all alone
demonized as a man.
Though he does
what he knows is right
when he can.
No matter his efforts
it is never enough
So detached he becomes
from the people he loves.
They've sewn his mouth shut,
and they keep lighting matches.
So he'll let their world burn
when the straw at his stake catches.

And all there is is silence
Trudging through calf deep snow.
Under sleeping winter trees.
And there's no sound.
One foot after the other.
Powder snow and smokey breath.
Painful air stabs.
But no sound.
No wind in the trees
No snapping branch.
No creature stirs.
No crunch underfoot.
No rushing water
as the frozen falls near,
the woods end.
The black water runs
beneath the creeping ice
along the bank.
Stepping out onto the edge.
Plunging down without a breath.
And there's no sound.