It stings. 
Frustrated tears pool at my eyes, 
Unable to do anything else.

It simmers.
Darkened eyes look away as
Yet another bribe takes place right under the noses of those
Who were once trusted to protect us.

It burns.
Knuckles are bleeding,
Pummeling the punching bag as though
It would chase all problems away.

It boils over.
Knives stick out of those
Who once dared to take advantage of our innocence
Leaving behind empty puppets.

It's empty.
But maybe this emptiness
Will herald better days.

– Arsh