Silence finally settles like dust,
A bitter ice has formed.
There is no battle fought by neglect
That’s ever chosen a victor.
But a dent was made,
In the deepest part of me.
Small, yet enough to rust,
Giving grip for weeds.
And oh how they thrived,
Gorging off of ancient wounds.
Feeding on painful sin,
growing into sickening hate.
Is this what you wanted?
Hate that could melt through faith,
As if the point's been proven,
You still hold to your silence.
You dog,
Lurking in my shadow,
Still, patient,
Happy to watch these weeds grow.