Supersoaker hours are over,
we picked the last four-leaf clover.
Time to go home, time to see black,
time for Daddy to make his attack.
He’ll make you feel like awful shit,
even if you might not deserve it.
Leave her alone in the crib, loss
of touch influences life beyond and across
the bars.
Chains can break my spirit, give me scars,
tear my ligaments and give me necrosis.
Daddy, try to put me under hypnosis,
but I forever hate and I loathe and I despise
you. It’s all written on my thighs
and wrists—You make me hate me.
You make me dream of a better death.
A contest entry
- what exactly have you won? by black lagoon x.
420 points, ended December 22, 2007, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Absolutely beautiful.
"you make me dream of a better death."
un-believably dazzling.Thank you so much for entering my contest.
-Pixie -
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Thanks so much for the wonderful comment
Jen >_<
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