I read it once;
I wonder if they'll ever know, the hell where youth and laughter go
I've seen it.

In soft armchairs.
And plastic tabletops.
And bibs so the food doesn't get on the clothes.

Stripped to your skin and exposed to the world,
You'll say nothing.
Stand and let yourself be cleaned.
You hadn't noticed the wet between your legs.
Or the smell.

Sit calmly, placid.
Watch as one bites another,
Scrapes at a neck,
Screams for them to go away -
visible to no one else.

She will kick and grab and pull and cry.
But alone she cannot stand.
She will crumble to the ground,
Fall into your arms,
Tell you "Really, I've had enough this time."
But such notions soon fade.
Back to the hatred.

The little one in the corner cries for a mother she buried years before,
mama, where are you?
And someone removes their top, throws it to the ground.

This one here will follow you.
He's a lost soul.
And he wonders,
Could you find it?

These were once fresh and young.
These shriveled and confused faces before you.
Their youth and identity and sanity,
vanished to unknown depths

Decayed with their minds into a lifeless state of living.