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She makes his sandwich again

With fingers that ache in time

To the rhythm of expected pain.



We watch our treasured one

Labor under quaint old ways

Aimed no less sure than a sniper’s gun.



He buries her beneath his neglect,

Controlling the ticking of her life

In the chokehold of his disrespect.



We live for the wit he no longer sees.

We soar on the laughter he no longer inspires,

As we beg her to unbend her kness.



Stand tall, our beautiful one.

We love you and need you always.

Stand tall and shine. You are our sun.

I just read another scribble taped to someone's Poetry section that attempts to make cutting/suicide into a poem.



1. Been done SO many times: (crimson, gash, slice, woe, you'll be sorry )

2. Can NEVER truly be done well

3. Add grammar errors to an already bad idea, you have something almost as horrific as the author's unoriginal concept.





I ask myself, "Why? Why do you read this shite when it is so painful?"

I guess I have to...just to know I'm ALIVE!

COMMENTS

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STABB666
23:49 Jan 19 2008

Woe my crimmson gash, sliced a sorowful blade...

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Joli
23:50 Jan 19 2008

You know, when you say it, it's kinda hot.

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POST COMMENT

Occam: dread123: wots every1 up to - *twitches*

Violenta: I hope that was you twitching

Occam: yes, me

Occam:specifically my trigger finger, longing to embrace the stock of a shotgun aimed at people who talk like that

Violenta: if you do, I'll walk behind you wearing extra ammo belts

Occam: *heart*

Occam: you're the best

Violenta: and carrying your water bottle and protein bars

Occam: It would make a great reality show. We could find people typing like that, and tell them that if they can write out a coherent plea for mercy their life will be spared.

Occam: Of course, I don't have mercy.

Violenta: I'll also bring along towels. When you start giggling, it might cause a big blood spray.

Occam: That's so thoughtful :)