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Bastard

September 3, 2013

by Sean Michael, April 13, 2013
Close my eyes and I wish for death
I look inside and see that there is not much left
Dear God, please take my hand and lead me beside still waters
Take me far away from this slaughter

The demons dance in my head
My eyes slowly turning red
As she beats me to the ground
and tells me not to make a sound

I can hear the derisive laughter
I feel like I don’t even matter
I want to run away and be alone with my insecurities
Pain is my only surety

I feel rotten and dirty and ugly
as your greedy hand takes everything from me
hatred is what I’m left
despising my every breath

It seems that I no longer dream as once before
All that I am shattered, broken on the floor
my mind, my heart, my soul, my flesh is scarred
I’ll try and collect whatever’s left of my life and stash it in a jar

As the razor makes incisions
Dear God, please deliver me from this perdition
As I bleed into the earth
please just give me a reason for my birth

The rage just grows and burns and devours
as the wicked hands of time tick away my hours
I begin to doubt all I once blindly believed
and I’m repeating and defeating myself without reprieve

Soon it all just ceases to make sense
She beats me when I ask for love
and, God, I feel like such a bastard

 

Posted at  dVerse Poets, OpenLinkNight #112

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From → Poetry

8 Comments
  1. damn. intense and painful verse to read…how desperate to come to that place of killing ourselves as well…overwhelming….

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    • I’d like to record myself reading some of my poems, and this is one of the ones I’d like to record for sure.

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  2. Your poetry has such raw, incessant emotion and you capture it so well, pulling it all in– the rage, the pain, the suffering, the blackness that knows no bounds– and you make sense of it, you pin it to the ground and show it how you feel. Bravo! ~peace, Jason

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    • You don’t know how much it means to me to hear that. It’s all I try to do. It’s all I question. I like your adjectives, because I’ve called my chapbook “Stygian.” Win or lose the Slipstream contest, I’m going to try and publish it with some of my short stories included.

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  3. This was emotionally devastating. So hard to understand this place when one is not in it. So hard to be helpful when one has not experienced it. You take us right up to the penultimate breath and waiting for a breeze of hope.

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    • What a great thing to say. I always wondered if people, even one person, could be so moved by my poetry, by this stuff inside of me. It feels crazy.

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  4. Ouch!!! I can relate to this too well my friend….love can be a most difficult thing to give when not reciprocated the same…are given the same…or different if you will…

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