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

arthame.deviantart.com