childhood suicide
i was suspicious to  walk
late to talk
and curious
in a home that was safe
where the summers were warm
the neighbors were nice
the bills were paid
not a care was to be had
but what game to play
with those who waited on the field
in a home of rust and light
a child wanted to die
remembering the thoughts
that had long been pushed
into a deep fathoming
lost in the amusement of constellations
and tchaikovsky cd's
not having said goodbye
redesigning existence into purpose
and finding it
and living it
the prophecy of storytelling
and repetition of life
the string of creation,
cut by my own hand
10 years old and the knife in my hand
how i wanted to die
until i did
blessed with an hour of euphoria
graced with the knowledge of vendetta
time was not fully spent
time was not in my control
my only control is my pen
and that i will
no longer home
where home was, no longer is
never can i return, never can i relive
until it is my time to create the ultimation of life
and life, the creation,
reverses the preamble of my lustic dreading
here is where i must stay