Balancing delicately on emotion
One more expression you'll tip.
You felt too much up 'til now
How much more can you permit;
There are letters crowding a shoe-box
Waiting restlessly to make their trip.
Do they speak of a long-dead past
To some allusions you haven't gripped;
What keeps you from sending them
Why keep these words so tight-lipped...
Come to terms with the fear, child
Sooner or later we all must sail that ship.
Pools of hate at your feet
Wringed from your desperate hands.
They clench as you bend reality
In your head to fit your demands;
The blood of your bitter torment
Flowing from the body of an icon.
He is the target of your rage
The one you have seeked revenge on;
Will his death seal the vault
Or would that add to the hole.
All dying is temporary, my lady
Forever will last guilt within your soul.
Do you feel the loss of faith
That dwells under humiliation...
There are no fruits on the tree
That was fed by your degradation;
Do you feel a chill of remorse
For this script you have wrote--
Will this evict all the demons
Be worthy of the time you devote;
Consider the sweat on your brow
At what conclusion did you arrive?
Those feelings of hate are still there:
All the labor-- the icon is still alive.
Reminders of the horrid past
Show up on your lovers' faces.
Words meant for minor pain
Turn back some virulent pages;
The ink is still fresh and clean
And the paper gleams flush white.
From the margins a mist rises...
You turn pale at this ominous sight;
All she's done exposed in sky-writing
The message seen is still so unclear.
Slowly you breathe in its meaning
But as words it doesn't come anywhere near.
Seas of disarray toss your mind
As this mystery grows ever vague.
What you knew breaks its chains
Each piece runs away to stravage;
Grasping for your scattered consciousness
Trying to assemble this evasive puzzle:
All the pieces look the same shape
Perseverance and sanity is being guzzled;
About to give up all dangling hope
The connection suddenly becomes plain--
The answer lies within the victim:
Time has come to end this outdated game.
The abuser was within the mind
Fists were fighting inside the brain.
The fault was lying not in the scars
But wrapped and tied into a name;
You made yourself the typical victim
Kept untold yesterday's violent truth.
Held from others the whole story
That's when shame had secured its roots;
At last the tale has been told
Here privacy will be guarded:
Look around, this story's not unique
But its unveiling has only been started...
