I.
You.
He.
She.
Blood paints the walls of our dreams.
A shrill scream is heard.
Our light shuts down.
Now it's pitch black.
She.
Me.
All we wanted was to be poets.
But no one understood.
They all said "What the hell?"
They told us we needed help.
We didn't.
We were just kids wit h houses that weren't homes.
Realatives that weren't family.
We are the same person.
We are the poet.
