The girl lost to hands that stripped her to safety.
All soulless she could be less of a danger to all,
force fed a silence, bloated on screams that curdled
through the hallways as children hid from the noise.
Shrieks still reflux up her throat a year after it ended.
There is no end to this. The IV scar folds in her inner arm.
She was prescribed empty rest. Resting became corrosive.
Even desperate doses of horse tranquilizers wouldn’t work,
just cycled a new drug trial through her, the side effects
were not sweet or relaxing. Stuck in four supervised hours
of hallucinations each week, she saw images of those hands
so brutish, dangling keys to locked doors. Now she alone
is the one to lock the doors. They will not open again.