Dedicated to:
SA survivors because I know how painful
it is to go back to the day it happened.
A murder happened in my neighborhood,
I could see the wild eyes,
some with blank faces,
some fearful mothers,
protective fathers,
children with faces covered.
And though they didn't see
the blood ushered at midnight streets
and poles,
and though the flowers seemed
dry and lifeless,
they had no problem visiting the graveyard.
And inside that graveyard,
there she lied,
the girl of eight,
her name written with bold letters of death,
my childhood friend,
my younger self.
And I still whisper it today,
constantly, day to day,
night by night,
I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
- Counting Sheep