Broken Toys
Mother drowned you with insult,
gasping for air in a vacuumed home
grasping at nothing, the invisible pool black
void of any edge, no ladder—
only the drain, sucking you into oblivion.
And Daddy held you too dearly,
a sick affection beyond his role
whispering promises, intently hollow
pretending you filled his emptiness
yet destroying you, inside-out.
Can friends truly be just that?
someone honest, forever there
without slights, maiming the heart—
choking the life from you, jealously dark
just to climb over your cooling soul.
The World looks on, sickened and dejected
hoping it will fade away, all the anger
dreaming of a brighter day, asleep to reality
as they all pray to help you, judge you—
never really knowing your name.
We all are hidden inside the box,
a box of broken toys, buried beneath their consciousness
to evil to contemplate, or feel for
a victim only in passing, until the eyes are opened
only a little too late, don’t you think?
Leave us be then, content in laying low
not creating any burden, for you hate that—
reminding of the failures, so just to turn away
keeping us in the background, masked by white noise
the lullabies sung for those, yet broken.
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