(So ya'll know, no reviews are coming through for this story anymore. Annoying. If you have any questions or whatever, just PM me.)
Helga Pataki.
Come.
Come, my brethren
my kindred.
I have fashioned us from earth
a place where we won't be heard.
Come, and we can speak one by one
or all at once.
We won't breathe
your secrets to another.
We won't hear your confessions
over our own.
The ones we want -
we can voice our desires
and own our lust.
The ones we excuse -
we can reveal our bruises
and spend our fear.
The ones we cheated -
we can admit our guilt
and escape our blame.
The ones we lost -
we can speak their names
and spill our tears,
we can lose control of our faces
and let grief turn our mouths
without the rigor mortis of false bravado
to force our smiles.
The earth won't tell
another soul
of what you say.
Though it hears it all
and remembers it all
it will remain silent.
Come, my brethren
my kindred,
my wandering siblings
with your aching feet and heavy hearts.
Come, join me in earthly confession.
For until you do, I'm just standing alone
in a hole.