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Painbody
I ate your food when you were away, locked up.
Your mother could finally take a breath.
Your father couldn't stop crying.
I coped by consuming carbs.
At the edge of evolvement,
you stopped,
turned away,
and dug into the darkness.
We stared in horror.
We wailed in hysteria.
We screamed for help.
In secret, we spoke skeptically to gods we didn't believe in — pleading for a miracle anyway.
But, clinging to your crisis, you condemned us as we took care, lost sleep, and scrambled for support.
A painbody — pristine in its poison — propelled you down the same path, again, and again, and again.
Rage and rampages, lies and lawlessness —
it's like you're looking to be lost.
Now, we're running with scissors to cut your stitches, then bandage you up.
We're standing below you with a safety net.
We're holding out our hands, in case you want a hug.
We're hanging our bodies off the edge of the cliff to reach you.
We're throwing out dwindling lifelines, and you are running away.
How long can we race?
What more could it take —
for you to realize you've been following a broken compass?
