playground school bell rings again. rain clouds come to play again.

Scars on desks are deep blue etchings

scratched onto wood skin.

But scars on a youthful child wrist,

a violated child body,

are a deeper red

scraped and scraped

and scraped

onto tender peach skin.

Burned into brittle bodies

and tattooed inside soft, impressionable minds

with swords

far sharper than cultured spears,

more powerful than

countless voices

dis

united

and mightier than

the lawless pens

that print

meaningless

black

on white,

merely glancing through

the dull

and uncertain

grey.