Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

Sicky666 Fhtagn - Abandoned Child

Poetry By: Sicky666 Fhtagn
Other



This is my autobiography.


Submitted:Jan 24, 2013    Reads: 58    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


My brother died,

And in his place;

I was born;

But I was repelled.

My mother threw me from the table,

Abused me, both mind and body.

My father never present,

And if so, he ignored me.

They left each other fast,

'cause mother was a lesbian.

But my father needed a woman,

For his children and as a housewife.

The second was quite alright,

Even if she made me eat axis.

Only my sister I couldn't see,

That became off limits.

After years they had their divorce,

And then came the third, the most terrible.

My wicked stepmother,

The greatest dictator.

She tried to strangle my brother,

Then father did interfere.

She put me in the sanitarium,

With false motives, my fear.

Firstly in a crisis-centra,

'cause I run away from home.

Then in the sanitarium,

Where I for six months did roam.

In the sanitarium,

Provided with medication.

By which I lost my memory,

Crawling in the emptiness of chaos...

Regularly I suffered blackouts,

By which I saw nothing.

Not knowing what I did,

Much like sleep-walking;

And strange vistas occurred.

I wasn't suffering delirium,

Is what the doctors told.

So all this time,

I was in the asylum for no reason.

Then I had to go to boarding-school,

Where I developed something bad: anger.

I wanted to kill another, a female;

And Nyarlathotep, I am sorry;

Maybe I didn't wanted to commit this act,

But I had to from Satan...

What happened was unforeseen,

'cause my room was now aflame.

The building completely in axis,

The police came to arrest me.

A year and a half in prison,

Locked away in a cell, in Hell.

A year and a half terror,

The bondage of society.

When I got out, there was another project,

Named room-training.

I had to work in a factory,

But that didn't end well...

I started to mutilate myself,

Which I learned in the sanitarium.

They send me to the hospital,

To the psychiatric division.

Then again to the crisis-centra,

Which I didn't liked at all.

As if I had to start over,

This was too much overall...

Through the open door I escaped,

And from my last money;

I was buying a train-ticket,

Which brought me to Ramses.





0

| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.