I know not what to call you
Writer of visions tortured like P.O.W.
I guess I could call you
Agony
Your eyes must burn
When you look toward home
How could you stand it
To watch them destroy her
Without true thought
Without care
Your ears must bleed
When the whispers of distant screams
Come find you
When her horse throat tries to call upon
You
Your heart must ache
When your thoughts tell you
She cannot be saved
When you try to will words into strength
But can only whisper ‘Sorry’
I cry for you
Because I know the pain of being forced
Onto the sidelines
To watch the deepest part of you burn
To feel it rip away from under your layers
To know that guilt hunts the innocent
More than guilty
I cry for you
Infinitely
