Sick...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is something I wrote a LONG time ago and just found while cleaning my room.

Submitted: July 09, 2008

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Submitted: July 09, 2008

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Sick of accusations
Sick of threats
Take a razor and carve

the pain away.

 
Betrayed at every turn
Left by the one I loved
All I can turn to is the knife

and the numbness seeping through me.

 
Watch blood flow in rivulets
Lap at the bittersweet twang
I wish so sweetly to leave this place

and to be left alone.

 
Want to get away but trapped like a caged animal
Insanity slowly creeps in
Nipping at my heels constantly,

they abuse power under false pretenses.

 
I try to defend myself but can’t
There’s no place for me to go anymore
I need to be free; I need justice

I need release from my living hell.

 
Where is the god that’s supposed to be there?
Where is this supposed loving god everyone speaks of?
This god does not exist.

This god is a hopeful dream.

 
Slashing violently
Blood splashes the walls
Blood smears the floor

Blood runs down clothes.

 
I lift it to my lips and relish the bittersweet twang

Of the misunderstood

the accused

the caged

the abused.


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