United States
36° 54' 35.8956" N, 78° 37' 22.26" W

Two hearts shaking under cold pale skin
Two minds racing into collisions
So traumatic that all they can breathe out is
“Why” seems to be all they can say, to express
The rest of them are dead
Their bodies and faces only display red trenches
Where acidic tears eroded
With bagged clouds under their weary eyes
Where sleep stopped its nightly visits
Their shaky, pale hands
And consciousness craving tranquility
They come closer
Holding eachother’s empty, broken coffins of bodies
And whisper to eachother “Why”

Then a series of new questions arrive and surface
Creating more wreckage in the atmosphere of destruction
The poisonous gas of chaos
“Where did we go wrong?
Where did we make the wrong turn to insanity with our son?
Where did we begin to not see the obstacles?
How did we let him collide in the troubles of raping a girl?”

Like gas molecules
The thoughts race around behind their eyes
And collide with eachother
Gradually building up the pressure
There’s no room in their boxes of hearts to hold this in
No room in their bombs of consciousness to compress this in
So they explode
Or compact in on themselves
Always blaming themselves
They left their hearts on shelves to let them dry there
But the bleeding never stops
The hurting never stops

Like a deer in broken headlights
They never even had a chance to see it coming
Never even saw their son on the road to failure
On the road to disapprovement where nothing but dead ends appear
His mother, he’s nailed her down
Like sins to Christ
The thorns of pain from her son kills her
But she’s not Christ
So she may never rise to her normal state

His father doesn’t know how to accept his new name
His new title of “The Father of a Rapist”
Fingers will point
Nails will stab
He’ll be criticized and victimized
Accused of bad parenting
He thinks he’s a failure as much as his son
And knows there’s nowhere to run
No hiding from the sun
So now all he repeats is
“Where’s the gun? Where’s the gun?”
Because he knows he’ll need it.
Everywhere’s a danger to him and his family
He looks at his reflection and is reminded of what he’s bred
What he’s helped raise
What he’s helped released
His son, The Rapist
The Guilty, The Unjusticed

They don’t know if they can go on
If they’ll make it back to the home in their hearts
Like darts, the results kill them
She’s the barrel, he’s the holster
And their creation was the trigger
Shooting bullets of pain
Killing all in its path

Nothing remains the same
The Game of Life ended and reality came with its grand fucking entrance
And their lives crashed
Rumbling to explosions
Stressed. Cracked glass
And circus mirrors that are mere images of disaster.
In just a year,
Their lives collided...
into ashes


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