Wars rage in between the static charge of our hatred.
Look at us.
For once, really look.
Without thinking of what you can say next to hurt me most,
look at the pain you've sewn into the boots of your children.
So that when they walk out to face an apathetic world,
the roots in their souls anchor them besides familiar creeks of pain.
You've stolen from me that which cant be replaced.
In this civil war you took my home.
Lincoln said, a house divided cannot stand.
And now I understand him.
I can feel the baseboards curling up like dried paint.
I can feel the windows fracturing inward,
I can feel the fire lapping at the bars of a crumbling hearth.
and I cant handle the evil you spill into my pillow cases anymore.
Either change,
or leave.