These tortured souls walk amongst
their similar counterparts, all
trailing on narrow paths and open minds.
They hold knives to their chests and
leave the pain in their hearts so
they don't have to stomach the sadness -
but what a twisted tragedy.

Between bridges burned to ashes and
golden hairlines that mimicked Hercules'
(though they were not as fortunate) it is a wonder
to witness the core of our misogyny as
we puncture our flesh a little deeper,
hold our breaths a little longer, and
leave our insides tattered as we swallow
the remains of the promises we've broken
and the memories we've hoarded.

Step by step, we break ourselves
to build up the rest who neither matter
nor simply care.

gd