Memory of Tears

why does nobody
see my constant need
for rescue?

do my eyes not tell a truth
when the words I speak
are all too often lies
written to perfection
regarding, my well-being

spoken: over and over again

script of words
burnt so far into my brain
the need for paper and pen
these made-up lies
written in trembling ink
have now passed
beyond need

does anybody - anyone?

please

see the need for rescuing me

I'm fearing this epiphany, that I see
where the reality
of motes on sunlight
scented pollen that cavorts
in limbadic dance
before nasal passages
through which I breathe

mentioning

in such subtlety
that to float free
is perhaps
one remaining way
open to me

but perhaps, alas
a rescuer will come towards me
I see you
over there
looking over here
cautious look
knowing eyes
you look at those around
wondering why
no one has approached me
to see if I need
any help

whilst I sit
with frozen smile
behind table
surrounded
by people
that have no eyes for me

because if they had

they would have noticed
my mouth twitch and flinch
perhaps even seen
the memory of tears
disappear
from eyes
that had already forgotten
too much pain
by hands that held broken glass
and spelled the word, 'help'
into arms, that had always bled