I just want to live
without the memory of your sin.

Without ever having to deal
with another trigger again.
To not have to flinch
At certain words people say
Or a small change in heart rate;
To be free of your memory–
Seared onto me like the mark of Cain.

I know now, years later,
You’ll never go away.
I still feel the pain and I thought,
One day I’ll use this for good.
The greek tragedy of youth is
The assumption of being unique,
Of being invinsible to a shallow degree.

That day never came.
Nothing good comes from what you did.
From what all of you
have done to us
and again.
And I force the words out
Around the fist-sized rock in my throat
Because if I don’t
we become the silent masses–
a central component
in your machine, eager to feed.

So I speak
so that others know that they can too
But it doesn’t make it better.
Doesn’t make it better.
Doesn’t make it better.
And love,
When we’ve finally been able
to patch up that infinite hole in ourselves,

Doesn’t make it better.

The past gets further away,
But instinct doesn’t forget
What it takes
To keep surviving.


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