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Abuse...
written by devils angel 1309:53 PM 11/29/04I write poems there about the stars. Poppa's drinking. Suicide, and lost dreams. I write letters to friends who've left town and will never come back. I write stories about kids who are happy, who live in big houses and eat lots of candy. I write about places where alcohol and abuse don't exist.I hear more screaming and I don't want to go inside, but I know I have to, eventually.
I find all of my journals in the fireplace one day. He's burnt it all. My stories. My poems. My only method of venting my bottled-up rage and pain and hate. I ride to the park to find my tree gone. The empty husks of homes stare at me, and I see the corpses of trees littering the ground, and in the distance, the future. Everything builds up. I fill with fury and ride my ramshackle bike back home.
Poppa's passed out on the floor. My feet creep up the stairs, hands painting pain on the rotting banister. My fingers find a pistol in his dresser drawer. I step down each stair in a daze, until I am standing over Poppa. He’s there, dirty. Polluted. Unclean.
I kick him; he grunts. I kick him. He does not wake up. I kick again and gaze into his open eyes, confusion obvious. They focus on the gun, a foot away from them. “You’re the reason I can't pray, know that?. You can’t scare me anymore. No one can.” Tears started to drip down my cheeks for the first time in so long. “You are a coward. A drunk. I can’t believe in anything no more and it's because of you. So maybe I won't wake up every day. Maybe I won’t fucking pray. But that's not for you to decide. You don't wake up." My hands waver. I shoot. “You’ll never wake up.”
My tears are salt in my mouth. I kneel, weeping. My shaking fingers bring the gun to my temple, and I gaze at the life I’ve lived, scared, hiding, before I pull the trigger for the second, and last, time. |
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Author's footnotes and comments on this Poem:
this isnt a funny matter
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This Poem has been viewed 356 times
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| » Comments / Feedback | by Alkaline_Fairy (11-29-2004 - 10:00 PM)
| Really dark, maybe i'm not used to all this depressive malarky- in my family we bottle things up. maybe you could expand on it cos it would make a good story i reckon. |
by morbidcreature_ofthenight (11-29-2004 - 10:04 PM)
| that reminded me of what my lil bro did. it was about the same thing only he stabbed his step father and slit his wrists |
by (anonymous) (11-29-2004 - 11:14 PM)
| damn...wish i knew u in person..i was abused.... |
by nobody (11-30-2004 - 12:34 AM)
| that's really brave of you to post it on the site i really liked it |
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