Locusts’ Lamentation

What happens when your tears run dry?

When you’ve already wept so much that now you couldn’t,

Even if you’ve tried?

When your face has become numb to the pain you’ve faced.

So you exhibit a facade to fit in place.

Why is it that the world has also become so callous to your cries?

It’s as if everyone treats your scars as scabbed lies.

When you’re told to succumb to that facade,

It only serves to have your emotions infest with locusts, all gnawed.

Eventually, these locusts will burst forth.

As if dormant for so long they’d like to leave a mark upon the earth.

Yet we’re taught to treat it as the norm.

As suicide and loss of lives have ridden society by storm.

These pleas and cries soon become drowned out,

Muffled to be a subtle buzz as everyone ignorantly walks about.

We sob and inundations of grief pour out upon seeing the news.

But what use is it if the root of the cause isn’t viewed?

So I guess I, like my tears, will dry up as I lie torpid in my room.

Embed myself deep into the earth like a locust in its cocoon.

With no one to confide in, for when I tried when I was young,

They treated them as the scabs and spat upon my scars as if I did not belong.

So I, for now, have become bare of emotion akin to my tears…