After
How long can one go on,
pulling at threads, coming undone,
counting three-two-one, but
too tired to fight, too tired to run,
am I still here when I’m this numb,
my trauma,
myself,
his victim,
immortalised in poem after poem,
because I still breathe to his rhythm
and do not own a gun,
and he is God’s son,
and I was seven days of fun,
please,
help me,
tell me,
how long can one go on
after what has been done?
Safety in Silence
Royal Rose 