Can one have the power?
To stop this hated hidden pain?

A glass breaking razorblade scream
Pressure point sharp and ice cold
Ripping through a soft spongy ear drum
Able to play no more sweet crystallized harmony

A faint cry of cotton silk
But an intense high pitch earthquake
One can hardly hear it
Yet feel it
Rumbling the inner molten core
Traveling the internal body network

The mouth opens like a greeted door
Oil black painful spiders emerge
Each a stabbed word of hurt
A charged literature army of evil

Close the shutters
Open meditation

Glowing white flutters appear
Mixed with the thick rugged dark
Gray
A still gray
Hated pain still hidden
Depression has risen