Stuck in the unseen village are the people with the bony eyes.
“Hug me with your words,” they begged, longing for the silent middle ground.
“Evoke within me a place where the stories collide, because
where I live, the streets are convoluted.
Our desiccated land leaves no place to rest. The unknown is known to us.
‘How pitiful!’ We scream at night, beseeching for solitude.
The back of our thighs blaze from sitting on the crate the devil delivered.
Throats burn from the acid that was poured into our glass,
and once we were legless, he borrowed us.
He skinned our velvet flesh, then provided us with paper to dry the tears he created.
And although we ran away,
the wickedness is laminated in our history.
A trail of shattered glass takes us back when the sun sets every night.
And a wandering mind finds these secrets, loathes them, and wishes for the illusion to be untrue.
Our homes are our own,
but there are footprints tracked along the diamond encrusted marble.
Elegant, golden frames paint the preserved happenings.
In this village, monuments are built on unsteady foundations,
even now, we continue to walk on these grounds.
Relentlessly sifting through the ashes,
finding pieces of our community within,
and leaving our fingertips gritty with the souls of our old self.
Rewrite our antiquity and save us from despair.
Protect us from the bloodborne illness that plagues our senses.
We wish for mental freedom, a resemblance of hope.
Bring us tales of angels.”