A Jar
I have a jar.
A small glass jar with all the pain in the world.
I have the last desperate plea of a girl in the hands of her murderer
and the final breath of the teen that discovered life was harder than it seemed.
There are tears that dampen pillows
and the blood that stains wrists red.
I have skin torn in agony and hair ripped out in frustration.
In my jar is music turned up too loud to pound out the confusion
and the adreneline that muffles heartaches.
I have a small glass jar with all the pain in the world.
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