Sunday, Oct. 22, 2006 / 5:53 a.m.
Every line tells a story

Every little line
So perfectly straight
So finely etched
Tells a story

Some are faint whispers
Whispers of a bad night
Whispers of a bad memory
Whispers of "I'm having a bad day, don't tell"
Whispers of our little white lies.
And like whispers, they fade as quickly.

Some are screams
Bright, bold, thick red screams
Screams bottled up so long and so deep
The only way to get them out is to dig them out
Screams that erupt squirting, blurting howling out their anguish.
Screams that demand attention
All the angrier for ther repression
Screams that don't go away
Screams that refuse to be forgotten
Leaving noticeable scarring
Testament to the battle to get the scream out.
Testament to the power of the scream.
Testament that the scream could come again.

Every line tells a story
If only people were interested in the story
And not repulsed by the line itself.