Do you still remember, this little room in which we use to play? I recall we chose sides. One was the hunter, The other the prey. You taught me Surprising things, Like what a blunt knife could say. We use to play “Make me pretty” You made me look like a fay, With red paint all over my face. My nose, even my arms were used as your clay. Strangely enough , I was asleep when you prepared, your way. Do you remember that doll you made for me when I kept it, still to this day. The kids at school insulted my tongue and my laughed at my poems, you made it better which made me forget school. Anyway the tattoo on my back, still red from the swings is still there. Your way to sway. But it is wrong, and not right , To love that we use to play. That is what the psychologist say. I dream about death every night, wishing it would come my way, hoping it would take me so I could stay. But I wake up where I’m reminded, the daunting feeling of the stressful way that life has on me which it calls me its prey. I love talking to the Grim Reaper because he’s the only one that can take my pain away. The Grim Reaper extends his forefinger while I tilted my head in curiosity and then he giggles and goes ballistic when a bright red dot appears on the floor. The Grim Reaper giggles as I begin to scramble to chase after the laser pointer emanating from his fingertip.
I hear a dark voice, every-time I remember the reaper’s footsteps in my head. Still following his laser from his fingertip, I rejoices feeling my sanity leave my body. It dismembers me and it has me spinning and falling down a deep dark hole. A past sad and appalling I hear the voice take control I scream and shout, ” Weeps followed by wails As melancholy breaks out!” I try to stop it; to no avail . The voice is filled with pity and gloom. I was a used and abused, shot down by my doom of darkness in my heart. Now I just sit here a the victim they presumed me to be, waiting for the reaper to take me to the afterlife. It’s cold, while I’m lying in the silence. Insanity is my symptom of my internal war of violence that eats me alive inside. I’m numb and dead on the inside as I crouched in fear. My heart races as I try to hide. But the Grim Reaper is already inside. Oh why can’t I disappear? As the dark voice takes form, I can only stand frozen . The man from whom I was born from is a monster and he is my father and he’s the Grim Reaper that killed me inside, wishing that I could meet the real Grim Reaper to take me away to avoid the pain I feel. But no one believes me, not even my mother or siblings, because to them I’m the victim they all hate to acknowledge.
Music By: Adrain Von Ziegler