Alone in the common room,
I watch them shuffle across the gleaming tile
to the interview room
where they bare their souls.
I see pain, fear, anguish
Can anyone love these broken souls,
bent by the darkness
that weighs so heavily upon them?
Does anyone still cry for them?
Some surrender easily,
going quietly with the demons
that clutch and pull at them,
dragging them down into a place
where the light no longer penetrates the shadows,
and everything they see is a mirage
drawing them further into the barrens of the mind.
The tough ones resist the descent,
clawing, crying, cursing,
fighting against the black walls
that close in around them
until they have fallen so far
their voices are no longer heard.
I wonder, does anyone still cry for me?
Or have the tears of those I've loved
long since dried up?
My turn comes,
my name is called,
and I shuffle across the gleaming tile
and wonder what my eyes tell.