It doesn’t matter what I say nor what I writeFor words written or spoken can never properly convey The multitude of emotions brought forth At the eighth hour and forty sixth minute On the eleventh day of SeptemberWhy?Why do I wish to share my pain with you?Why do I want you to know what it was like down there?It makes no sense to mePerhaps I seek your sympathy or desire your attentionPerhaps I am just mad at youOr wish to ensure that you never forgetMaybe I just want you to listen while I get it off my chestJust can’t put a finger on itJust can’t seem to figure it outI need to cleanse the toxins from my mindAnd remove the crap that lines the walls within my veinsAs Ms. Lennox said; …“This is the joy that’s seldom spread. These are the tears…the tears we shed. This is the fear, this is the dread These are the contents of my head…And this is how I feel. Do you know how I feel?Cause I don’t think you know how I feel. Tell me…why?”Why should I  burden you with my experience?You’ve suffered enough through your ownBut you act like you know how I should feelYou act like you were there, but where?Stop telling your stories in front of me. Of all your accounts of false bravadoBecause you weren’t thereUnless you stepped into that pit and felt the fires melting your solesUnless you smelled that smell and crawled through those holes Then please! remain silent. You weren’t thereAnd you don’t know how I feelChristopher M. Kelly