A night at the Museum,
and we're dressed to ****.
The mood is gleeful–
and the people, chill.
All court the kings and queens of shill.

Our ****** deeds are whitewashed clean.
Our grievous crimes are left unseen–
sanitized versions on the tv screen.

But our steps were tracked with care
by one who could no longer bear
the growing horror, the scenes from there.
The cry of anguish, the dead-eyed stare.

Now the blood drips on our shoes.
Our deaths headline the evening news.
Yet still, the truth has only views
on internet sites with volunteer crews.

When there is no other way
Desperation will have its day

Before I sleep, images flash across my mind before she wraps her arms around around me.

Recently, all I've seen is you, still around.
Your plush fur, your soft purrs and the headbutts you used to give me.

When I wake, I'm slapped with cold reality as I see your final resting place.

When I found you, your once warm fur was cold, but you didn't look like you were scared.
You went to sleep, that was the last thing you did.

Now I'm here picking up the pieces of my heart.
Wondering if I was the cause of the stopping of yours.

Soon, you will lay down under the very sand you used to tread, sleeping as you were.

Sleep well my prince, and tell Boss I'll see you both soon

No matter what, I will always love you
And once I pass the gate, I hope to see you waiting for me

My knife
Once a gift
Now my tool
My blade
Once for protection
Now for relief
My razor
Once pristine
Now rugged
My knife
Once shiny
Now stained red on the edge

My mother once told me I was talented
She encouraged me, and told me to fly
But yesterday night, she whispered to self, "the only thing my daughter is talented at is becoming a disappointment."