Demise. Well, that was the last poem I wrote before I knew the full truth. She knew they hurt me physically, just not sexually. She had no clue what they where doing to me. How could she not see. That her sons are Fucking Nazis for my Body. Oh God help, please. I guess I wasn't that Holy. But in reality, people did not tell me. That they where lying, taking a religion, and defying what was written. In the pages, what a sly being. And all I'm doing is seeing and fearing " THIS GOD THING" unbeknownst to me it was major anxiety. Acting like a wardog inside of me. HOW EXHAUSTING. And I'm offering up my body so the two fists won't come knocking. Being corned, and it starts to get sloppy. Another day passes like a dish washer, rinse and repeat. My past really had me down on my knees. It's ok to gag, it's FUCKING DISGUSTING. But when your this weak, you just try existing. Going through the day, and you're NOT SLEEPING. You just keep writing, as your fighting, the oh so blinding
Reality of SEX. AND YOUR UPSET. YOU'RE IN YOUR OWN BEAD. FORCED TO GIVE HEAD. WISH I WAS DEAD. THE DAYS START TO BLEND. WHEN WILL THIS END. HOW DO I DEFEND. WHY WONT PEOPLE
BE FRIENDS.
Four mentally unstable brains, stuck in people who aren't ok. But they go on day by day. And maybe thats ok.
Four mentally unstable brains, stuck in people who aren't ok. But they go on day by day. And maybe thats ok.
But they aren't the same age, but they aren't on the same page. But, they all have pent up rage. But, they won't sit still. NO WAY. 12:00 am, Let's repeat another day.