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This splintered world

Take it into your cupped palms
dry and cracked from years
of wiping draining tears
and sleepless nights
spent brushing slick hair
and stroking enough colour
into the pallid cheeks
of sufferers of every shade of sick
to drive a harlots rouge to shame

empathy may be a slow death
but lift it slowly
tenderly
as the broken arm of a child
wide eyed and tired
gaze fixed firmly
trusting
that you'll stop the hurting
but not knowing how
Written by DystopianMelody
Published
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