there is a door that shines upon my dark a knob waiting to be turned into and on my life secrets kept and whispers not felt what is it, to not be loved? in all the wrong ways to never know the pages in the play to wish for death each and every day and have hesitation mark my skin?
"if" in time I wish to tell to rise from the deepness of my well afeared and more afraid that truth will be the only answer to my tale
to crushing corners, ever Charged emotional battery to terrors and trials rides in cop cars and case files up and down memory aisle
to saving graces angelic faces just like his I dressed them, in long pants and jackets I covered up the lashes all of us in dark with only each other and mainly me to stave against his lark
what is it, to love? secret and not so safe but "together" i held tight the terror for us
each in turn, we whispered: maybe we won't, maybe he won't have to hurt
anymore again today tomorrow
each answer claps in my head a growing wondrous nearly ready roar CRACKS CRACKING inside a shut door