The Whispers spoken softly
Through closed mouths
Tight with fear
Each wide eyed, once innocent soul
Stricken,
From poverty, illness, grief, depression
Dignity fades in black and white

Laughter fills her head
As she dances with the dead
Each morning lost
At slumbers cost
Stealing more than the day

When her penance is paid
And sadness no longer lay ed

The Stone cold feel of steel
Stitching the flesh
Layers of bitter petals
Booming only in the darkness
Exploding
Hemorrhaging the purity
Draining gritty gladness
Chattering from loss of belief

Each breath hot
Those before are forgot
Tiny moments so large
They disappear
In a mosaic of undiscovered possibilities

A compulsion to taste
Fragmented memories
smelling of morning

She sits upon the bare Linoleum,
Legs folded in,
Back hunched, head down,
Counting the invisible tears
Never splashing on the floor,
Dry and hollow inside;

Surrounded by quiet

I've lost myself
In the folds of working class linen
With infectious sin
Spreading, splintering
Tumorous doubt,

My soul reaches out
Seeking a cure,
Hot relief from times thief,