In every note of a tear

In every glare of a peer

In every limb that is seared

Another thought of demise made up of quiet cries and broken ties is neared.

How many times have you committed a “crime” and had your life on the line? 

How many times in your eyes have you gotten ready to say your goodbyes?

How many times were the knives too close for you to be alive?

How many times has that occurred

With your quiet cries and broken ties unheard

With attempts of nearing the expiration date undeterred

With the chemical imbalances transferred

Stirred and stirred.

Why we are asked

Why we can unclapse from the ledge that is so tightly grasped

Why we are masked from the contrast of the past

Why can our last breath happen so fast?

If only we had a warm glow

A gentle blow from the cloud of woe

And even though

We’re in the low

We could always grow

From down below.