Throughout my life, and all the strife,/ And bull,/ I never was able,/ Or
seemed to pull,/ Myself out/ Of pain, denial, or self-doubt./ Many days and
nights I cried/ Inside./ …Attempted death and suicide./ Face in tub of
alcohol,/ Scolding hot, my hands both tied/ Behind my back./ A pulsing pain
within my head brought a smile I nearly dread, with boiling water, face
blood-red…/ The flames tore way my back./ I laughed and chuckled, shifted,
shuffled; I thought there was no turning back./ Next thing I knew, all was
black./ My life then played in vivid greens,/ And vibrant reds in front of
me,/ But things ain’t seem the same./ Grandpa taught me how to ball, Grandma
showed me how to draw, my first kiss, how I got played, poetry that I once
made, mommy screaming, daddy’s beatings, how my heart had gone astray,/ I
wrote and ate to ease the pain,/ But weight was what I never gained./ Anger
filled my dirty veins, Hatred burned all that was sane,/ Unbridled flames
henceforth remained,/ And this is “Me at Heart”
My blood,
Burns, tears, and eats away the very flesh I loved so dear,
I sit in my own murderous sanguine pool of lust, evil, and debauchery
That of which I feed, yet fear
My loving heart besmirches me
And thoughts so black, I keep them near.
I dream a nightmare where so much I dream, a nightmare seems as dreams
surreal yet clear.
Many dreams are pleasant so, in bloody hell, and fateful death and feels so
real it burns & sears.
The pain in which my mind endures, my soul distraught, distrait, distorted,
distressed, diseased, I seize its love as if it suicidal thrills.
The thought of death always appeals
To me. I see my err yet still,
There’s only one that stands against… A touch that often heals.
A kiss. That could dismiss my horrid thrills,
And starve this man of precious meals.
I fed off hatred, things of hurt, ‘twas partially my will
But ever since this thing of love, it seems to hold me still,
Even still, It shouldn’t still,
For internal torture entreats still.
But this, is “Me at Heart”
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