She screamed.
She screamed like every time before.
She screamed for it.
She screamed for it so loud it hurt,

it pierced my ears

like gunshots in an empty room.
She screamed and left my ears ringing

trying to wake me up.
She screamed but I couldn’t wake up and see what she could.
She screamed and I was paralyzed in a nightmare,

but not my nightmare.
She screamed and I forgot why she did.
She screamed and I remembered why she did.
She screamed because she hated her own blood,

just as her father did.
She screamed like he had.
She screamed.
She screamed of lies,

her screams were lies.
She screamed to scream.
She screamed to release the pain of what had been given to her.
She screamed not of sympathy,

close to empathy.
She screamed. And it hurt. Not her.
And she screamed again,

and probably would another time down this road.