I know only this,
With you died my bliss.
Why had you to go,
When I loved you so?
What in my love
Was there not enough of
For you not to see
You were needed by me?
Just a selfish act
Without thought of impact,
Of how it would destroy
Me, your little boy?
I want you back
From your self-attack,
From your self-hate.
Come out of that crate!
I won't let them bury you
Or away let them to carry you
I refuse to desert
My daddy to dirt.
Why did you flee
In a way which would be
Such forever unending a leave
Bequeathing me only to grieve?
Why did you hate me
Leave me, forsake me?
I loved you with all that I had,
Daddy forgive me if I made you mad.
Come back poppa, please
I'm here on my knees
Begging, please don't be gone;
Tell me this is just some con.
I Loved You! I Love You!
I Hate that I Love You!
For now love is only deep pain
From love now there's nothing to gain.
-From the Author-
And hopefully this
Explains why I dis,
And will have no pity
For a 'poetic' suicide ditty.
Just such selfish gusts
From self-absorbed egotists
Playing as the word is a toy
That wrecked the heart of this boy.
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 8:59 PM UTC
I know only this,
With you died my bliss.
Why had you to go,
When I loved you so?
What in my love
Was there not enough of
For you not to see
You were needed by me?
Just a selfish act
Without thought of impact,
Of how it would destroy
Me, your little boy?
I want you back
From your self-attack,
From your self-hate.
Come out of that crate!
I won't let them bury you
Or away let them to carry you
I refuse to desert
My daddy to dirt.
Why did you flee
In a way which would be
Such forever unending a leave
Bequeathing me only to grieve?
Why did you hate me
Leave me, forsake me?
I loved you with all that I had,
Daddy forgive me if I made you mad.
Come back poppa, please
I'm here on my knees
Begging, please don't be gone;
Tell me this is just some con.
I Loved You! I Love You!
I Hate that I Love You!
For now love is only deep pain
From love now there's nothing to gain.
-From the Author-
And hopefully this
Explains why I dis,
And will have no pity
For a 'poetic' suicide ditty.
Just such selfish gusts
From self-absorbed egotists
Playing as the word is a toy
That wrecked the heart of this boy.
©2010 Ross "Joey" Porter, all rights reserved
The pain of a suicide cuts many ways, but when it's used as a "device" in poetry, it annoys me.
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