Why doesn't anyone ever notice how hurt some people are? |
Daylight draped in betrayal, As the raw halo of the unforgiven Burns red in the playground dust. There's the smooth, maroon notebook Eyes gliding over the smeared lead Taking it away and Opening it and Making it known that A fortress has Collapsed. There are demons in disguise Everywhere Or so it seems. The angelic eyes are bottomless pits to Unpitying minds. There is no compassion here. It's a secret. Something controllable and enraged. Who can understand it above that age? Where storms fume Within glances that know and understand Too much they shouldn't. And dark, grey, skeletal trees Tower Far above the ground. With their pinched branches frowning down And shaking in a cold wind. The same wind that slaps skin Selfishly assuming that the world feels as little as it does. The wrath of its non-emotion, Like a child's, Haunting and scrutinizing and biased Against non-perfection. The eyes, pitted into low brows, Are black with a desperate, primal lust To see something vindictively cruel. Encompassing, Like shadows ominously leering, The storm clouds Roll over. And pearls in blue-white paint Splatter from dizzying heights, Drizzle becoming sobs from the sky. And though the briar of nails Brings forth the broken, Running away doesn't seem to work. The secret stays secret. |