The Crows

I once told you of flying crows,
Crows I saw that night,
That night that I’ve removed from my mind.
Those crows are one of the few things I remember,
While lying still in that lonely place,
On that cold evening.
Wondering, shamed, obscured.

You choose harshly to not believe me,
But is it the crows of which you opt to doubt,
Or is it the oblivion I have as a memory for that night,
That night I saw the crows?

I know there was a man, but his face is undetermined.
I know his voice because I still hear that in my sleep.
I know what he did because I still have the damages from his maiming.
I know that night I felt such pain, an ineffable pain.

The crows watched my suffering,
They only flew away when the torment ended.
I haven’t seen those crows since.
How much more have they seen?
How many more memories do they invade, while the rest of the affliction stays blurred?
Who do I belong to now?
Is myself, or is it you?
Or is it that awful tyrant?
Ask the crows,
Get them to speak,
Get them to tell you my story,
Then you can show me with your fading love for me.