When I see silent weeping
I see the young boy
standing on his bed
staring three stories down
a sea of masks below
nails in the eye of each

I see the young boy's eyes
filled with red minefields
countless hours worked
countless hours abused
treated like an old computer

When I feel emotions fly
eyes like a vinyl record
I see the girl and boy
her words flying outward
a scourge of hornets
stinging the boy everywhere

I see the girl and her jar
with sorrows of others
used for baiting with lies
the tears inside for herself
to imitate crying and invoke pity

I too have a jar of tears
a jar of my own tears
from nights spent alone
living through abuse again
making the memory smaller
like it was a lanced boil

My tears become medicine
mixed hope and obstinacy
given freely from me
to provide comfort

For those once alone