The Statistic

The Statistic

One nation under God – a silent plea

thy staff and rod – they comfort thee…

Where all sectors merge, and boundaries meet fences

The memories purge, and re-order defenses.

Where does she go… and where does she live?

What marks her presence in the humanity sieve?

…she cannot show you all sides of her soul

some lurk in the shadows of a lonely dark hole.

She is terrified to reveal all where she has been,

the terrors, the fears, the harrowing sin.

On the brink of destruction, entertaining the thought

Give life a chance…maybe she ought.

Her mind is an abyss; sanity’s hit or miss

a train of illogic, the demons will hiss.

She hides in the cave of darkness and quiet

the dripping of stale water – her only diet.

The light of the day only illuminates her homeliness

crowds of bustling people magnify the loneliness.

Trapped in the puddle of swirling mud

it knocks her around, rubbing raw…drawing blood.

How can she live and of herself feel?

Too noticeably lost and layers peel –

leaving her nakedly exposed and certainly raw

she’s given up waiting for her last breath to draw.

She’s balanced on the cusp on the edge in twilight

on the fence out of whack checking out in the night.

On the ledge of her dreaming for the substance she’ll grope;

teetering perilously…deaf… to all offers of hope.