J'ai En Vie

                                                   Seule
                                               De me retrouver,

                                           Recroquevillée

                                                Sur ce monde

                                                      Où les éclats

                                                           De bombes

                                                                 Creusent

                                                                     Ma tombe

                                                                         Tout bas.

                                                                   De fuir

                                                       En voleuse

                                              Les gens

                                  Qui aiment

                          Détruire

                    Sans gène.

                          De dessiner

                               Mon désarroi,

                            D’étaler

                    En hécatombe

             Sans me gêner

          Ma douleur,

                   De la crier

                         Au monde

                                 Entier,

                      Sans pudeur.

                                     De dire

                                           Sans être

                                                   Maudite,

                                                Ces mots

                                          Non-dits

                              Par la peur,

                                       Les maux

                                                Cachés

                                                        De honte,

                                               Renvoyés

                                       En pleine

                               Tranché,

                                        Oublié

                                              Tu n’as

                                                       Qu’a… 

                                               Montrée

                                        Du doigt

                           La souffrance,

                                   Par alternance

                                            D’une culpabilité,

                                  De fautes

                            Rejetées

                   Et l’autre

          Aux oubliés,

                      À l’indifférence

                                  Le regard

                                          S’égard,

                                   Le train

                            D’une vie

                      S’en part

                 De l’oubli.

                              Sans cri

                                         Ni souci,

                                D’un abri

                       Sans vie.

                                  Ne criez pas,

                                               Qu’il y a

                                                        Plus bas,

                                                                 La mort

                                                                         M’est réconfort.