I lost myself when the words poured from the top of her head and swallowed me whole.
Drowning every inch, taking every breath.
The black steel barrel and the glossy white casing in which he placed himself has become a Kodak print in my brain.

How could you?

His body trembles from the volcanoes of emotion erupting inside of him.
How is he supposed to handle this?
Flashfloods overcome the grasslands of his face.
They glisten as they empty themselves.
They gaze to you as a last plea, and you have the nerve to tell me?

Stained and impaled for four years, with the knife you never regretted throwing.
Limping through the future with the wound that can’t quite heal.
The third number in my life, almost lost his.
How could you tell me?

The house is overflowing with hostility and you just keep pouring more in.
In public I ignore the constant internal struggles although there is war inside of me.
The four year long war presses on although my heart begs for its end.
Although I may act as a stone, I am not.
Although I may speak as if I am fine, I am not.
Although I may seem as if I do not remember, I have not forgotten.
Although I may seem like there is no wall, there is.
Although it may seem as if the respect might have been regained, it has not.

The burden you were soon relieved of was felt as soon as you happily passed it on.
Only being received by the 15 year old beingforced to hold the plate.
The 15 year old who you treat as a friend.
The 15 year old who was once your daughter.
The now 19 year old girl who still cannot forget.

How could you?