Pages like bones crack under pressure.
The stories didn’t match, so they threw a match on yours…
Cutting with a knife, digging deep into your flesh, veins hang from the open wounds. And while you bleed out the lyrics of your life, you can hear the rhythm of your thoughts beating between your ears.
…the foreigners came forth and drowned out your song, with the beating of your skin to rocks…
Pain and suffering cling to love and drag you through the mud. And when all was said and done, they threw your lifeless body across the page, blurring out your histories.
And now we only remember your death.
How can we read the stories of the past, when the pages are smeared and broken?
Pages like bones, crack under pressure.
And some, can never be put back together.