These Broken Children,
Come to me,
Are drawn to me,
By some unseen string
That binds us together across time...
I recognize the signs-
Their sad eyes,
or vacant stare,
The scars-
The way they watch me,
To always know where I am...

One of my young friends,
Flashed me his arms,
To show me where
He had carved tally marks-
To mark his days of pain...
To show his mother,
That nothing she did,
Could compare to
What he did to himself...
Yet,
When he saw the sadness he had caused me,
He shrugged his thin shoulders,
And smiled sadly,
Saying softly that if he carved enough,
Soon he'd be all gone...

This broken child,
With scars to share,
And stories to tell-
Made me weep and remember
My own Hell-

I told him;
"You can survive this...
You can escape-"

I hope I didn't lie...