Post by numberunknown on Apr 22, 2007 0:19:02 GMT
I was bored at one in the morning, and instead of going to sleep, I decided to write a poem. Now, I wish that I would have gone to sleep, because I'm exhausted but can't drift off... Anyway, this is a ramble about a boy whose father abuses him, and if you don't like sad things, leave, because this is depressing.
Trapped in my own ululation,
I lay shattered over the ashes of our ethereal relationship,
Hidden under an indescribable pain,
Our flaccid love smeared over an inflexible bulge of hatred,
Only ignorance tempted me into calling you father.
I am but a mangled teardrop,
Too cowardly to fall from my masters eye,
Too abashed to run away,
Too show,
Too feel.
I wondered once through a mist of confusion,
What it would feel like to bask in your parental affection,
But in times future, I lay fractured across fictitious hope.
I wouldn't mind right now if I were to be killed,
Nothing could hurt more than the reality of your being,
And the reality of my being killing you.
I sit in the day, by the light of the day,
My face freckled with the darkened sunlight,
My soul wounded beyond repair,
And I laugh.
My high pitched giggle bitter and cold,
As one of an undead corpse,
As one of myself.
Day slowly dies to night,
And my anguish slowly fades into being unhealed,
As you pull your dagger from my chest,
Leaving me bleeding on the stairs which lead to a tortured home,
As I lay slain and defeated,
Just like before.
Father, you may cry over my crumpled body,
For the loss of the strange boy who once sat on your steps,
You may hide behind your predictable bottle (which crumples you),
But I am just a mangled teardrop,
Terrified of leaving,
Only staying at the price of cruciation,
Goodbye, Father, my one victim of hatred.
Everybody will someday; fall into tears.
TADA! And if your wondering, no, I am not abused, I just write about it. I know, I know, it needs serious work, but I felt like posting it... I don't know why.
Trapped in my own ululation,
I lay shattered over the ashes of our ethereal relationship,
Hidden under an indescribable pain,
Our flaccid love smeared over an inflexible bulge of hatred,
Only ignorance tempted me into calling you father.
I am but a mangled teardrop,
Too cowardly to fall from my masters eye,
Too abashed to run away,
Too show,
Too feel.
I wondered once through a mist of confusion,
What it would feel like to bask in your parental affection,
But in times future, I lay fractured across fictitious hope.
I wouldn't mind right now if I were to be killed,
Nothing could hurt more than the reality of your being,
And the reality of my being killing you.
I sit in the day, by the light of the day,
My face freckled with the darkened sunlight,
My soul wounded beyond repair,
And I laugh.
My high pitched giggle bitter and cold,
As one of an undead corpse,
As one of myself.
Day slowly dies to night,
And my anguish slowly fades into being unhealed,
As you pull your dagger from my chest,
Leaving me bleeding on the stairs which lead to a tortured home,
As I lay slain and defeated,
Just like before.
Father, you may cry over my crumpled body,
For the loss of the strange boy who once sat on your steps,
You may hide behind your predictable bottle (which crumples you),
But I am just a mangled teardrop,
Terrified of leaving,
Only staying at the price of cruciation,
Goodbye, Father, my one victim of hatred.
Everybody will someday; fall into tears.
TADA! And if your wondering, no, I am not abused, I just write about it. I know, I know, it needs serious work, but I felt like posting it... I don't know why.