Every night she cries
and dies a
little more each time
Where am I?
Where are they? Am I with them? The silence - they've been haunting the unpopulated shadows and corners of the globe, choosing at random their next victim. They tell the world they need us for the experiments as they call them, that they need us to fill a "greater purpose" . A creature cabale of so much cruelty can not produce shame. I stare ahead. It's only me in this dark little room. The air is musty and smells of infection. My face must light up the dark stall around me when I remember my locket, the last connection I will ever have to my family. As I search for the locket under my blouse, a question comes to mind. How long am I going to be here? I start panicking just like I did back at home. That was me, always with my burning anxiety of something so tiny. But no, I had to give myself some slack, this is big. The kids back at home would never tease me for this like they did anythings else - would they? That's what the silence does. They choose the people so messed up, the people with such a charred past that they're almost worthless. The people like myself. I finally find my locket and the cold metal feels comfortable on my hand. I hardly notice the many sharp pains in my hand, like needles slowly edging themseleves into my skin. I look at my hand, or at least, what's left of it. The flesh is charred and some bone peeks though. I'm so scared. In the excitement, my thumb brushed the locket, making the oddly weak chain break and the locket shatters on the floor. I pick up one of the pieces and struggle to bring it to my eye. I am so weak. Something catches my eye - or someone. An elderly woman is staring back at me where my reflection should be. Her face is so weak, she is so covered with blood and bruises and so many scars. A sad excuse for a human being. Her eyes and nose are morphed into places they should not be. I move all the muscles on my face that I can feel, and she moves in unison. Then I realize something jaw droppingly terrifying. That woman is me. The thing is - I'm 13. I just got here. How long have I been here? 60, 70 years? I hear the unmistakable cry of the silence. I look in the door and see the terryfying chreature an-
Where am I?
Where are they? Am I with them? The silence - they've been haunting the unpopulated shadows and corners of the globe, choosing at random their next victim. They tell the world they need us for the experiments as they call them, that they need us to fill a "greater purpose" . A creature cabale of so much cruelty can not produce shame. I stare ahead. It's only me in this dark little room. The air is musty and smells of infection. My face must light up the dark stall around me when I remember my locket, the last connection I will ever have to my family. As I search for the locket under my blouse, a question comes to mind. How long am I going to be here? I start panicking just like I did back at home. That was me, always with my burning anxiety of something so tiny. But no, I had to give myself some slack, this is big. The kids back at home would never tease me for this like they did anythings else - would they? That's what the silence does. They choose the people so messed up, the people with such a charred past that they're almost worthless. The people like myself. I finally find my locket and the cold metal feels comfortable on my hand. I hardly notice the many sharp pains in my hand, like needles slowly edging themseleves into my skin. I look at my hand, or at least, what's left of it. The flesh is charred and some bone peeks though. I'm so scared. In the excitement, my thumb brushed the locket, making the oddly weak chain break and the locket shatters on the floor. I pick up one of the pieces and struggle to bring it to my eye. I am so weak. Something catches my eye - or someone. An elderly woman is staring back at me where my reflection should be. Her face is so weak, she is so covered with blood and bruises and so many scars. A sad excuse for a human being. Her eyes and nose are morphed into places they should not be. I move all the muscles on my face that I can feel, and she moves in unison. Then I realize something jaw droppingly terrifying. That woman is me. The thing is - I'm 13. I just got here. How long have I been here? 60, 70 years? I hear the unmistakable cry of the silence. I look in the door and see the terryfying chreature an-
Where am I?
Torn in two, she lies awake,
t h e
m o o n
l i gh t s u p
h e r r o o m l i k e
d a
y ,
ANOTHER NIGHT SHE
SPENDS ALONE,
without
his touch, her
skin is
cold.
Every
night she cries
and dies a little more each time
and dies a little more each time
Even though the world she loved it won't ever be the way it
was and her heart is weak her hands are shaking
Every night she cries and dies a little more inside
Say you love me
Every night she cries and dies a little more inside
Say you love me
Every night,
~she
cries~
And dies a little more each time
everynight she cries and dies a little more inside
