Tags
child abuse, Moloch, Newtown, poetry, psychiatry, school shooting, trauma, work
What more do you want?
How many more have to die?
How many more will live,
but will come see me years later,
begging for Xanax or Oxycontin
so they can endure the memory
of burning in sacrifice to you?
I don’t remember it but I know
the smell of burning flesh.
Your brand is on my forearm.
I too was offered to you,
but you didn’t kill me,
and now I spend my days
bandaging those burned
in sacrifice to you
and the wounded keep on coming
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a powerful write, Mark — I know that you are working through finding words, This is an excellent start. It sounds like you know full well that as time moves us forward, more words will come, I hope you jot them down and share. Peace ~ a
Thank you. I will.