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Singing A Shameful Lullaby ( Paeonia suffruticosa )
The drive that kept me going so long, the same drive taken from me by the slip of a plug, the same drive that taunts me with knives and nooses and lakes and medication and fire, the same drive that made my heart flutter makes it stop now, the same drive that makes me sick to think about, the upper hand is his and I am at a loss of words for I have lost the drive.
It's all gone and I may never get it back.
The same damn drive that turned to hate,
so much hate I tooke a knife to 'mothers' throat.
I know, I know, I know,
That's not how good girls act.
But without that drive of love-
Sometimes I feel uncertain in the truth I want to scream at the top of the world,
the truth of the stresses that were released once he died,
the truth that life seems easier without the medication, without that annoying singing in the attic of the house I no longer live in, the truth that 'father' doesn't use me as a punching bag anymore, it's all alittle easier.
No, no, no, no, no, what am I saying?
Life is so much more difficult without him.
My life, is so much darker.
So
so
so
so
so much redder.
My skin has never seen so many marks and lines,
so much bloo-
I wake up in a manic depressive state but that is not my excuse for holding a knife to 'mothers' throat.
She just wanted to visit but I denied her and told her to leave, never come back!
I cried murder against her, she pulled the cord of life from him.
It's.
All.
Her.
Fault.
Falling into his hands, all mighty God, forsake me, grant me the wish of death and dying breathes.
I am no angel.
I am no virgin.
I am no saint.
I am no killer.
I am no stronger.
I am none.
Call the police.
Tell them what I've done.
Tell them of my thick cuts.
Tell them of my wanting of suicide,
that word I take so lightly.
Suicide, I want it.
Give me one hard fuck of suicide,
O' come and split me in two with the c-
I need organs. Filling of some kind. Trust. I want that too. I am selfish. I want to thank you. I don't know what. I am too manic to think. My hands, they move. Words appear. Thoughts are provoked.
My eyes tenderly look over at the picture of Thomas and I, following the crack that runs through my face. I start to laugh because I know I will never have that again. I cry because my wrists are bleeding and for once, I don't have a reason to do so. I scream because I know some one will hear me. Aunt Becca runs into the room and covers her mouth in shock, tears filling her eyes when I ask:
"It's all over... Isn't it?"
It's all gone and I may never get it back.
The same damn drive that turned to hate,
so much hate I tooke a knife to 'mothers' throat.
I know, I know, I know,
That's not how good girls act.
But without that drive of love-
Sometimes I feel uncertain in the truth I want to scream at the top of the world,
the truth of the stresses that were released once he died,
the truth that life seems easier without the medication, without that annoying singing in the attic of the house I no longer live in, the truth that 'father' doesn't use me as a punching bag anymore, it's all alittle easier.
No, no, no, no, no, what am I saying?
Life is so much more difficult without him.
My life, is so much darker.
So
so
so
so
so much redder.
My skin has never seen so many marks and lines,
so much bloo-
I wake up in a manic depressive state but that is not my excuse for holding a knife to 'mothers' throat.
She just wanted to visit but I denied her and told her to leave, never come back!
I cried murder against her, she pulled the cord of life from him.
It's.
All.
Her.
Fault.
Falling into his hands, all mighty God, forsake me, grant me the wish of death and dying breathes.
I am no angel.
I am no virgin.
I am no saint.
I am no killer.
I am no stronger.
I am none.
Call the police.
Tell them what I've done.
Tell them of my thick cuts.
Tell them of my wanting of suicide,
that word I take so lightly.
Suicide, I want it.
Give me one hard fuck of suicide,
O' come and split me in two with the c-
I need organs. Filling of some kind. Trust. I want that too. I am selfish. I want to thank you. I don't know what. I am too manic to think. My hands, they move. Words appear. Thoughts are provoked.
My eyes tenderly look over at the picture of Thomas and I, following the crack that runs through my face. I start to laugh because I know I will never have that again. I cry because my wrists are bleeding and for once, I don't have a reason to do so. I scream because I know some one will hear me. Aunt Becca runs into the room and covers her mouth in shock, tears filling her eyes when I ask:
"It's all over... Isn't it?"
Published 29th Oct 2011
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6th Nov 2011 5:29pm
So very dark and filled with sadness that brings many tears to my eyes as I type this. My dear, the world I hope does not betray you like it has in the past.
27th Nov 2011 1:08am
