I do not want to see
the images you paint with your confessions
but the eye of the imagination
does not close
I can't stop the vision
of the needle in your arm
chemicals flowing into your veins
allowing you to escape
but stealing your innocence
you are compelled to tell me
every detail of the desecration
while you speak
my soul cries
everything in me
wants the flow of words to stop
but I am here to bear witness
and so I listen
