What Wasn't Said At The reunion 6 9 04
Content Note: Contains references to childhood sexual abuse, trauma, and dissociation. (formerly named: The reunion 6 9 04)
Sit there.
Backs turned.
Eyes wired shut.
Disconnected from your gut.
Bowels moving
to the rhythm
of your heart pumping.
Mouth open.
Shut.
Spilling shit.
Ears closed
to those who know.
Head throbbing
buried in sand—
it’s far too hard.
Shaking hands.
Don’t you wonder
where the fingers
have been?
Sit there.
Backs turned.
Eyes wired shut.
Screaming pain
into nowhere.
Sore throat.
Screwed face.
Shake my hand.
Don’t you wonder
where my palm
has been?
Sit there.
Backs turned.
Eyes wired shut.
Monsters come at night.
Thrusting back and forth
to their delight.
Sleepwalking.
Sniffing out
whose nightmare
it will be.
Sit there.
Fingers—
stench of innocence.
Body—
reeks of guilt.
Those around him
bathe him well.
Sit there.
Disconnected from your gut.
Trophies counted
in shallow ground.
Plastic moulds.
Laughing at shadows
of those who know.
Open scabs
fester under lights.
Pricked.
Poked with salt.
Rubbed gently
into frenzy.
Sit there.
Screaming agony
into everywhere.
Kiss my cheek.
Don’t you wonder
what my mouth
has seen?
Drinking tempers.
Smoking.
Trying to retreat
into warmth.
Needing protection.
Given.
Sit there.
Ghosts from your past
hang in your face.
Cut down too late.
Held by four.
Skin cold.
Turn your back—
but open your eyes.
Please.
Screaming babies.
Do you ask
where my child
has been?
Silent mourning.
Red hot night.
Monsters
coming again.
Stop all breath.
All movement.
Freeze
in the red hot glow
of white stuff
erupting.
Check the garments.
What size is his?
Compare crutches.
Sit there.
Open your fucking eyes.
Wrench the shit
from your ears.
He’s pulled his head out.
See for yourself.
The gap
is far too wide.
Fifty paces.
Momentum
can’t be stopped.
Those around him
bathe him well.
Don’t turn your backs—
silver slithered tongues
sitting on fences.
Swords out.
Bodies sliced.
Skeletons animated.
Whispering knives
stab from behind.
Fuck you.
Wake up.
Treading softly.
Balancing on shells.
This is the choice
for those who know.
Wake the fuck up.
The toll
is more than fingers
and toes.
Children safe
for those who know—
pleading for others
to be sure.
Turn around
before the nightmare
haunts
your wired shut eyes.
Nerves dance.
Froth mixes.
Monsters love it.
Terror grows
from little bodies
with no hair.
Say no.
Mouth wired shut.
Voice strangled—
gone for good.
Spirit broken.
Peace
will never return.
Get fucked.
Keep your backs turned.
Fill your ears with cement.
Eyes sealed shut—
no permission needed.
It’s done.
Highs and lows.
Eyes dart.
Searching.
Found.
A glance shared.
Safe
for one second.
Gone.
Don’t cry.
Go.
