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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #1801533
Poem written in 2010
You beg for me for your dinner like your hands have grown cold

You expect me to bend and shape myself to your perfect mold

I can’t find a way to please you, there’s no room for me to grow

You always know how to place me, my you are so bold

Tearing your skin, at your black heart I will begin

Blood and bone, I'll tear you down from your throne

Topped with sin its the real me again

Now I can be found picking up your pieces on the ground

What a mess you've made the place is upside down

Deeper than the darkest hole I’ve dug myself, your bones will lay to rest

But you're still calling me….reeling me in…to begin..to begin …

I can’t find my way out of this hell I have made for myself


© Copyright 2011 M. Caron (ramblingmuse at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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