It feels like I'm screaming into a void
Yet I know you all can hear.
I can’t figure out why you don’t respond,
Is it anger? Maybe fear?

Or is it apathy towards
A fellow human soul.
Or maybe you just think
That my tragedy has gotten old.

Two years on and I still
Feel like ****,
Still struggling on my own
To deal with it.

Two years and I could still
Cry at the drop of a hat.
But you just don’t seem ready
To deal with that.

I could not make it anymore  
Obvious if I tried;
That I've been falling apart
Since my brother died.

You told me to stop
Hiding how I feel behind a wall.
That if I spoke honestly
There would be help from you all.

I no longer even try
To hide how I feel
When you ask, my answer
Of pain Is real.

So, I'll keep talking,
And you’ll keep ignoring what I say
I'll keep talking
And I'll never be okay.

We don’t speak any more.
Nails fly out of your mouth to crucify
while I oscillate between hanging in pained silence
and screaming thoughtlessly back at you.
But far worse than your nails drawing blood
is the piling of the silent stones, day by day,
into a monument I cannot climb,
inscripted with the character of your life I can no longer read.
Could I ever?
You bludgeon me with “you will never understand.”
I never believed you until now.

I cannot see your knights
and know not what dragons they have slain for you.
I was once your champion.
Your laughter is shrouded when I am near,
although I hear it report from a distance,
its absence piercing shooting pain.
I cannot know your particular darkness
for the shadows are yours and yours alone.
But I knew something of your lands once
and sacrificed more than a little blood on your soil.

You fence me in lines I never drew.
But perhaps if you just start again
by telling me a secret,
the garden we once planted together
will not lie so barren and unkept.
I tend it still.
Tell me a secret
that I might once more whisper to your heart.