Scream

Scream.
YES!
NO!
At the dark hidden corner.

Scream.
Mute.
The father honoring the favorite son.

Scream with pride.
And scream with anger.

Father.
Son.
Ghost...
Specter.
Only able to make
the well known shadows of the corner
pregnant of hopes.

Scream.
With pleasure.
With anger.
Hidden in necessary shadows
that mark white flesh
with red nails and teeth.

Wanting to run away
and wanting to become incarnate.
Being made flesh.
Blood.
Or cold stone...

Just to be.
To make substance present.
Just for hurting the soul
or the eyes...

To exist.