There was a certain resonance only we understood,
for we were connected in more ways than one.
There was more than just a grim outlook, colors seemed to fade and melt into a gray only we could see.
There always was a sickening dread that we felt in the pits of our stomach when we walked through that door.
There was no longer our autonomic freedom, only oppression that seemed to shackle us, kept us weighed down indefinitely.
There were only their words that seemed to lash us with every letter that was spoken.
At least it was better than the indeterminate neglect that we always seemed to feel.
There was no longer an objective to escape our little prison, our spirits battered and broken.
There was no one to advocate for us, no one to save us.
There were only our quivering bodies and bloodied souls remaining, we were mere shells of our former selves.
There was no mercy towards us, no humility shown.
There were only the cold, unrelenting walls that confined us.
There was no longer time to come up with hypothetical solutions and situations,
all of our hope was gone.
There was, however, a certain comfort which we felt while talking listlessly about nothing in particular.
There was comfort in the placidity of night when no one else was around, only us silently judging our surroundings.
There was empathy that we only felt for each other, for if we did not, no else one would.
There was discontent in waking up every day to the same routine, same place, same hell.
There were only us in our little sect, just me and her.
From the others, there were the cries of laughter when we were infantilized, howls of joy when our knees buckled in humiliation.
There were times when I merely felt as meaningless as a clod, wanting desperately to be washed away by the sea.
There were times when our suffering wasn’t even relevant to our surroundings, when our minds would take over and we would sit, frozen and afraid, unable to speak.
There was a time when all we had was fearful metacognitive thinking,
“What will happen to us?”
There was no longer the will to keep from drowning in ourselves.
There was no hope left in our hearts.
There was a time, even if I had perfect diction; I could not fathom how to come up with the words to describe this.
But things change.