Fun

From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the burning ball of fire
There’s more to be seen than can ever be murdered
More to do than can ever be stabbed
Some say eat or be in a mental institute
Some say live and let death upon you
But all are agreed as they join the tornado
You should never take more than you steal
In the circle of death
It’s the wheel of sadness
It’s the leap of Russia
It’s the band of French
‘Til we find our place
On the path unwinding
In to the death hole
Some of us fall by the wayside
And some of us soar to the drop
And some of us sail through our happiness
And some have to live with the fear
There’s far too much to take in that man’s brain

©March 1/20

****This is not my work. I corrected a few spelling errors otherwise this is exactly how it was written. When it was written I am not sure. Tember wrote this. Please bear in mind he is 11 years old.

****I spoke to him about it last night and Tember informed me his inspiration came from The Circle of Life song.****

Taken Back

This is the 3rd poem continuing from Ugly Reality and I own You….Branded. Please note this deals with abuse and the imagery used here may possibly trigger memories and pain. Please read only if comfortable.
Sitting
lank hair falling forward
screened face
hiding
all looking at me
all searching
seeking
answers.
Hands
limp between thighs
cuffed together
where do they think I will go?
What do they think I will do?
Blood
slow
spreads not like water
thicker
steady movement
a splash of paint
drying on pale walls.
Voices
come hard
fade away
lost in the past
in spells of memory.
You were not this way
you were not so cold
those first days of love.
You held my hand
wove tales of futures unknown
pulled me in
pulled me close
sucked me in
then the abuse began.
Pinches causing bruises
punches placed
hidden from sight
scratches
you even raped me.
Not once
not twice
over and over again
mind
body
soul.
It became too much.
I could no longer contain
rage
simmering
burning
beneath the surface
out of reach.
I provoked it.
I pushed.
I pulled.
I knew how to do it.
I found my pride 
I found my worth
you bloody bastard
I return your curse.
I warned you.
This was the last time you would touch me.
You laughed
face contorted in rage
reaching one last time.
My face swells
blood dried on my clothes
torn
rended clean
pitying glances
I no longer care
for finally
you are gone.
Sometimes the Angel of Death only plays.
Sometimes the Angel of Death arrives
Upon Pale Horse 
decreed it has been said
to take home the unblessed.
©March 1/20
Picture via Pinterest