she opened up to me that night like a old torn book
mouth twitching in anxiety when she first uttered a word
secrets tumbled out like dead men from graves
like water rushing out from a tiny gap in the wall
(more) apologies stumbled out and relief stumbled in
she kept on talking until all i could see
sketched on walls and mistakes wiped on tissues
and stars on the sky shaping C L O S U R E
for all the world to see (less)
are you sleeping tonight?
your mind is too weary
your eyes open shocked and wide
maybe you will feel a bit better
if you exhale it out,
(more) but is it going to help you darling,
when you are really dead inside out? (less)
Do you see them standing arrogant and proud? Their clothes shine, mouths are sketched with half smirks. People come to them, shake hands, sing praises. Their hair gleam gold as they bask in the glory of their selves. The world is full of them because it is made of(more) them. Applause rings out whenever their names are mentioned. They can do no wrong. They control everything. They are winners.
In a corner of the world, another group stands. Faces lined with pain, shoulders hunched under all sorts of difficulties. For a decade they have been waking to a dark night which darkens with every passing moment. Bullets, bombs, famine, thirst, injustice...they have seen it all. And more. Their children have been set alight infront of their eyes. Their women raped, men slaughtered to bits. Still, they stand with backs straight. Eyes alight with heroism. Determination. Hope for a brighter dawn. The world has always ignored all their pleas and will always do so. But they know, after hardships come ease. Their faith is enough to keep the fire in their hearts burning.
Look at them, and admire. This is how winners stand. (less)
That box was chock full of things. Dainty china cups with chipped edges lay carelessly among the wreckage of which was once a toy train? Books, with stained faces and bent spines sat there gathering dust mice. There was also a shiny tin can. A broken pendant. A lac(more)e napkin. Two rusty bolts. A snooker ball bearing the number 5. A cracked case of blush on, its pink contents all over the place.
That box was someone's life at one point and now it was just a sad home to long gone memories and never fading nostalgia. (less)
Hey you, sir, STOP! You are under arrest, please raise your hands over head. For what you ask?
For Possession. Theft. Substance abuse.
What, you are denying you did neither? Well, sir, perhaps this girl will refresh your failing memory. She says you kidnapped her, forcefully took her insi(more)de your house when she didn't want to. That is possession. You exploited her sexually. She was your substance and she was abused.
You raped her. Stole her virginity. Her self esteem. Her integrity. That, sir, is Theft, and a damn lot of it. (less)
It was colorful. And neon. It was every hue of the rainbow and sequined too. You could wear it to a dull dark hospital ward and you could swear it would only two minutes for every patient to heal. To dance and laugh and cheer. This was the kind(more) of effect it had on people. It made their eyes shine. It made them clap their hands in glee at the sight of it.
It made them happy.
It was his funeral suit. He knew he was nearing his end. He was going to wear his funeral suit and this was how he was going to go. He would be in a coffin being lowered down in the soil. People would look down at his face. Remember his actions. Talk about his suit. His suit wrapped around his lifeless body.
And be happy. (less)