No poems have the power to turn back the time,
Or to rewind it all back just the way it was.
No words uttered have enough pain or rhyme,
To have you contemplate what loss it was.
The days won't return back to us all we owned;
The time you were mine and I yours was.
The nights that he swallowed by void moaned,
No soul heard the silence that screaming was.
The chains that had then bound us to part,
Were strong on our fragile selves to break.
The fate destined by society had us to part.
On the bleak night divided was the track.
The nights, orphans were forced to brothels,
The nights, wage slaves were burned alive.
The nights the little kids slept on the streets.
And the nights, I thought of them and thee:
Were the nights I suffered and stayed up,
And smoked, cried, cut my arms to bleed.
But nothing helped and nothing ever does;
The cursed ecstasy and screaming silence.
- Mason Carter