wading deep, bloody water
its hard to measure a single beating heart
to measure its clawing judgement.
to measure the mothers beating blood while she’s
wrenching, retching and writhing.
its hard to measure disgust,
difficult to seethe while corps-less hearts beat inside you.
its easy to declare a hidden hate,
easy to let it wage a war on a world you don’t understand.
its hard to watch, fallen sisters.
its difficult to hear the screeching footsteps on back alley stones.
difficult to ignore a wardrobe of utensils.
easy to flinch, and stay quiet.
they rely on our ability to do so.