Where are the words to reveal what I hold,
the stone that sits on my heart?
No, not on my heart, but on my entire…soul?
On my mind, on my every last part.
There are no words to scrape off the web,
the cocoon built so strong long ago,
to show you the shame, to open the box,
to think that another should know.
I cannot think past the weight of the stone,
I fight and I bite and I hate,
but all that there is is the pain and the rage,
and help is too little, too late.
Too late for the one, who so long ago,
was caught in anothers sick game,
buried beneath the muck and the grime,
till no one remembers her name.
Too many new names have hidden her now,
created from hate and despair,
facets of what was a shining bright jewel,
now fractured beyond all repair.
Squabbling all in the depths of the mind,
spiraling out from the stone,
protecting and hurting and living and dying,
ensuring we’re never alone.
Talking around it can only disclose
that a void in the middle remains,
but for all that it’s worth, I give you this sight,
though it’s tattered and covered with stains.