Things are different now, after the action has died down leaving tears on our cheeks that dry our skin as we wonder aimlessly through our broken home. Even though we are all still here, we still feel alone. Silenced by our own fears and emotion trapped under the tough skin on our bodies. One sits over there with a bottle in one hand and a razor in the other. He lays alone, mouth shut, eyes closed, knowing he can't do a thing to fix the splintered family without getting hurt again. She ran. Only coming back late at night when no one will hear her because the air has become to heavy for her to breathe. I can only stand and watch as the life I knew spits out the teeth in the zipper holding it together so it is unable to come back together. I know it wasn't any better then when we all fought wars with ourselves. At least we were still there. Is it more painful to sit in a silent room distorting your reality or to burn alive at least hearing the screams telling you you're not alone? Telling you they haven't left. I long to hear their real voices again. The ones not sugar coated with false promises of healing. I want to see the blistered flesh beneath the mask even if it is to horrific to look at. At least I won't feel I live in a world of lies. You can't live on lies.