The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

What else is left to say
when the heart has screamed itself hoarse,
when its walls have cracked wide open
so someone—anyone—could see
the blue blood spilling,
pleading without words?

But wounds can be blind, too,
scarred thick like stone—
too numb to flinch,
too closed to break again.

And so, silence swallows the echoes,
and the heart learns
what it already knew—
some cries fall softly
into the abyss, unheard.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis