poem

Cant get a idea , cant hold a thought, I grew up with chains on ,frightened and torte , then came the sounds , the voices and noise , my meek interpretation left a big hollow void .
Next came the twisting the stabbing great pain . Then came the bleeding the punctured old vein . From the rosy red drops of sickly sweet blood , a story emerged , a tale of envy , and lust .
Not far away in a head wind so strong , There is a dark figure , a man with a hook for a hand , his eyes are uncaring full of malice and hate , for him there is no justice , just satisfaction of ill fate . His hook so sharp so tainted so cruel , could cut through a tree trunk ,or tear up a fool .He wont go away , the dark tainted man , he beats me with my own words , and slights me with my own hand .
Try as I might to beat the impostor with glee , he shackled my thoughts, he is part of me , pull on my heart strings , there is little music left , I see his cold eyes lurking under my vest . Though I keep trying to get out of his way he sees my heart beating , and give me no rest .