| » Poem: The infection grows |
The infection grows
written by Genocide Reaper12:28 AM 11/8/04| Deciceve deception, declaration, disposition, deadly distractions, the constant fucked up reactions. Its a turning point, its a stain on the page, its a burn upon the brain, its comeing in, going out, bleeding on you, burning through the rage. Clock in, do your work, its just another fucking media hook. Your the bait, welcome to the hunt, your the food, become restrained, become detained, you now are no more free, you are something for everyone to see, side show freak, posted like a sign. Similies hidden in songs, that scream, the things they just can't see, while you're left to be shown to the world, as a project, a clone, another fucking waste, a god damn drone. They miss the message, they become the cattle, the blood boiling on the stove, in the preverbial kettle. Do you see? You can't take it from me! Do you hear? Their games I will never fear! Do you breathe? Living is dieing! Grief filled cries for help, go unheard, in a world that was covered in graveyard dirt. Inside you know you know you hurt, you just turn, hopeing soon you can mend. But forever it last, like I said, there is no end. Trying and trying to force it away, can't get a grip, it just seems its here to stay. Inside of us all we have a fight, but its up to us to chose, if we give up or not. People offer a hand, that burns, people can't seem to learn. By accepting the help, the wound is numb, but the infection still fucking grows. |
All (c)Copyrights reserved by the Original Author.
Author's footnotes and comments on this Poem:
Leave a comment or don't.. Does it really matter? The Demon says yes..It does. Now obey me.
[ View Genocide Reaper's Profile ] [ Go to the Poetry Portal ]
This Poem has been viewed 351 times
|
|
| » Comments / Feedback | by Trapezium (11-8-2004 - 06:22 PM)
| oO I like this one. Yes I like this one lots. Can I steal it and print it out? |
by dacode05 (11-11-2004 - 10:12 AM)
| Geno...In the future I can see your poetry journals lining the walls of my hidden getaway by the same name "Poets"...it's where the locals go to get away from the self-inflicted-delutional world. Local artists and poets of all walks of life put their work there......most are "starving poets", but if they're good their pieces sell well.---and kahno, sweet one, don't lose the spirit you have. you got a smile from me on that one. |
|
|
|
|
