The Screams

The hardest parts of it all

are the screams

they always reach for someone

with hungry hands

and there's this illusion

but the hands never grasp someone worth loving

They are loud

but go unheard

forced to become internal

They are 3:00 am panics

they are 12:00 sighs

always unnoticed

they were not born for subtlety

This is for all the souls

whose fate holds unseen tears

and unheard cries

who rock gently in tired arms

and sing softly with worn voices

I know

I have bled to the point

where my bones are dry and fragile

and red is no longer scary

is common

but my ears are tuned to your faint "help"s

and I hear

your screams