ARMOR

My mother cries silently in the room next to mine,
but the fingers in my ears only make the cries louder.
Merciless hands pour the blood of my sister,
and the horror in her screams crack my fortress of pillows.
Tears scar my face as they storm to numb the pain,
desperate, they claw; all but in vain.

The salty bitterness rushes,
my heart begins to flood;
under the weight it cracks, and I break.
The darkness contaminates what is left of the light,
I look down at the filth lying there in front of me,
and I plunge the blade in the heart of my sleeping father.