In chaos lies the truth we cannot speak,
awareness of a pattern of abuse,
of self-inflicted flavours our minds steep -
tisanes of hate we filter, so obtuse
that only those familiar with the pain
decode the desperation in our verse.
Refrain, refrain, refrain, refrain, refrain...
a supermodel driving beauty's hearse.
But steam escapes when ink-based vents permit,
emancipating love from terror's grip,
awaking hope from nightmare's daily pit
to walk in sun, enjoy the rays we sip.
Although the maelstrom isn't what we seek,
in chaos lies the truth we cannot speak.