No one talks about the smell of shame.
The swirling, suffocating stench of sticky sorrow.
No one does but someone should.
No one describes the sound of silent screams;
the low moan of mourning;
the high harrowing hum of horror.
No one does but someone should.
No one describes the disastrous disconnect from self and others;
Of the gagging, gangrenous gulf between beauty and brutality.
No one does but someone should.
No one tells the torturous tale of the taste of trauma.
The metallic, salty swirl that won’t subside.
The residue of ruin that no rinse will wash away.
No one does but someone should.
No one mentions the marination in misery.
How the victim is infused with shame by offender and onlooker alike.
How when she sees herself through your shame shrouded eyes,
She’ll want to hang not only her head but her body too.
No one does but someone should.
No one reveals the long rickety road to recovery.
The catastrophic cost,
the tawdry toll of trauma.
No one does but someone should.