Theres an image of me
hidden in the furthest recesses
of my mind.
An image of a boy;
naked and dirty,
crouching in a shadow darkened corner.
He holds a knife in his hand
to defend himself;
to hurt himself.
He fears the shadows
and the whispers in the dark;
people; people!
He hates them!
He's lost in paranoid delusions;
pain and sorrow have driven him insane.
He lashes out at nothing,
trying to cut,
to make something bleed.
He feels a tinge of pain;
they hurt him again.
Blood drips from his blade;
he got them,
he hurt them too!
He never realizes that with each strike;
each lashing out,
he feels that tinge of pain.
Too lost in the madness to understand;
shadows and whispers...have no blood.
|
Submission Name: Shadows And Whispers
