It is dark and beautiful here
The people bleed black rivers
The ground is a golden sore
Festering blue pus

There are shelves and shelves
Shelves filled with files
Some black, some red
Some a vertigo of emotion and color

There are spaces, where files used to be
Where the trauma has been erased
There are flimsy files
Where the trauma has been overwritten

In this beautiful, dark place
There is chaos.
There is no silence
There is no peace

There are two holes
They show something normal
These holes look to a limb
The limb bleeds red

There is silence here.
The limb bleeds after the silver
And there is blissful silence
Until the chaos returns

And so we must repeat.