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Jul 2015
I got to say these things that were eating away at my soul like the birds,
Birds that happen to look a whole lot like crows,
who only ever go after the dead decaying prays,
because when it's dead, it's easiest to ****** away.

But I spoke line after line like the little white lines that lie in long lines,
on the highways where the dead bodies have been laid out to dry,
I was not going to give into your games let alone cry,
but if I must shed some tears to tell all the fears you have put on me,
then my eye will bleed red,
and never dry out,

And for me to pour my heart out onto you,
is as evil as the crow you are,
while you plot where you're going to pick me apart first when I finish,
but like the crows and the dead carcase I am,
we all have rights,
but like the bandages that can't stick around to fix my wounds,

im sorry,
A thing I've been more often than sometimes,
so its hard to fill in the bubbles of how someone hurts,
when the scales seem to add up in the favor of the other hand.

But that still gives me no right to act and do the things you do,
and play dress up in rooten old skin,

like you have set the example for me,
to lie to those who stared death in the face and went on as before,
but before they were nothing and after there still wasn't something,
and you checked the boxes under the bubbles.
securing they would be fine.

when in reality they were fine like you said,

if you compared their mental status to that of yours.
who let someone roam around like a dead corps.
as the crows above circled and waited,
waiting for the innocence of an infant to mess up.
so they could finally strike.

I get it's only human nature,
Just like the circle of life,
*But why do people have to keep neglecting children,
until those vultures finally strike.
I've tried to write this for the longest time ever. I finally did. Its about how adults have treated me. when I begged them, to see the things wrong with me.
Cat Fiske
Written by
Cat Fiske  United States
(United States)   
     David Adamson, Cat Fiske and ---
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