Cut Off

Aaaaaaaaaaaand we're back, and getting straight down to business!
This one comes directly to you from my pent up frustrations:


Cut Off

A silence that screams
louder than the sirens
roaring in my head
now permeates
the peaceful whispers
we once shared.
Whispers of hopes,
of dreams
of a better future,
of getting away
from all the hurt and hatred
that is spat our way,
running down our faces,
cold contempt dripping
off our cheeks
and onto our soulless shoes,
empty of emotion or support.
And I want to call out to you,
scream at the top of my lungs,
let you know
that I'm still here,
that I still care...
But, alas,
this is out of my hands now.
My vocal cords have been cut,
now blowing aimlessly
in the wind,
wishing for a sound
that may never come.
Perhaps one day
they can be repaired
so you might hear my shouts
for your life to be worth living,
for your world to be worth lying on,
and for your heart to be salvaged
from this soggy puddle of tears.
Yet, for now, my quiet compassion
is all I can offer;
I hope it's enough.