"tormentors" poems
To the teachers who never really cared and ignored my problems;
To my fellow ***** “misfits”, etc. Who will no doubt receive more abuse upon my passing, as my tormentors will no longer have me to push around;
To those who never cared, never spoke, probably never knew my name;
To the one true friend, whose caring was the only thing that prevented this event from happening sooner;
To the God, if he does exist, who chose to play a cruel, cruel joke on me when he placed me where he did and surrounded me with so many uncaring faces;
What about my teachers? Will they be sorry to see another student become a statistic? Certainly the administration and Principal will mourn, as my death will not reflect well on them as an institution. Well, I apologize for making the statistics for your administration worse. But I don’t expect an apology for the false sympathies of people.
As for my fellow students, those who made a more significant impact on my life, I know better than to expect my tormentors to mourn.
There’s another group I have not yet addressed: those not like me who left me alone. Or should I say ignored me. I appreciate you sparing me any further harassment, but your inaction, your withheld hellos and how are you’s did more hurt than any name calling. Your inaction effectively excluded me from student life, from the human race. You left me isolated and alone, and no words I could say can convey to you the suffering you caused. I could name names, but in doing so, I would do more now for you than you ever did for me in life.
I do not know what awaits me when I get down off this rope. Will there be a void? Or will I come face to face with God? I just don’t care anymore. If you’re anything like your people, I wouldn’t want to know you. You preached to love one another, yet I’ve felt everything except love from Christians. Even if I knew you were different, well, I'd still reject you. You have left your “followers” to treat people like me poorly. You have allowed so many of the people you “love”, including me, to suffer. So you want me to trust you with my life? I don’t want to spend eternity with a careless deity like you, or with the company you keep.
I’m trying to watch TV but I don’t know what I’m watching. It’s so lonely here. I want to sleep but it just won’t come. I’m so tired of hurting and being alone.
I hope that with my death, there'll be a wider awareness for child abuse and the effects it could have on a person. That's the only wish I have right now. A lot of people will be hurt with my passing, disappointed even, or maybe it won't matter. But I'd like to believe, no matter how much of a ****** up person I am, I died for a cause greater and bigger than myself. That's the only consolation that I have right now.
So that’s it. That’s me. Leaving the world to be a better place.
Goodbye - T
© Copyright Tyler Atherton
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 6:41 AM UTC
Why am I so dif-fer-ent?
They say I’m out of touch.
Why am I, ple-nar-ily sad?
This life it hurts so much.
And why do they come, come every day?
Shush, quiet now, they’re here.
Those awful tormentors of my soul all cackling and queer!
Whirling head of spinning revolutions,
…feel my stomach ache and pang.
Why will they not leave me alone?
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I shouldn’t always feel like this, feel such solemn pain,
…troubling and trouble is these birds are driving me insane!
I’m screaming now! I’m mad with rage! Throwing ice cubes at my deck,
“Go away! Yes, go away!” -their numbers must be kept in check.
Blackhole-whirl, flying twirling darkness, their funnel it points to me-e-e-e-!
For too many is too painful and my mind’s a constant wreck!
One cannot think with those infernal be-e-e-asts,
...and the crazy song they sang.
Why do they so punish me?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I know they serve the Saturn’s wheel and now they’ve come for me.
What did I do? Oh what great sin, oh the blackbirds from within;
The Abyssimal Sea?
Their whirlpool funnel is all around, as my harried soul, it expiates.
I’m done-in; I’m over now, a sorely victim of the Fates!
They took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
Why could they not leave me alone?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
If you find yourself all alone and mired in their thought,
…do not think, extirpate, all the human damage that you’ve wrought.
His flock of fledgling melancholy musical formation,
…will take you away and straight to Hell; the Seventh Circle congregation!
For they took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
And they will not leave you alone.
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang. *
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
¤¤¤
I've had dreams by day
That brought the nightmares back.
In the daylights exposure it was dark
When the negative light was bright.
In the sea of people
I was the floating remains
Of a Great White's meal.
On the lonely roads of thought
My mind was in gridlock.
Comforting memories were suspended
Over a psychic black hole
By jagged and rusted
Medieval-type surgical tools.
My remaining senses
Were nailed to a cross-section
Of psychically atrophied grey matter
Along neural pathways
Guarded by gladiator-type tormentors.
Left with nothing
But the stinging desire to be freed
From a curse that had to be cured
And the hell of searching for a cure
When I was convinced there wasn’t one.
The powers that be come with force
To quell primal lusts & desires
Forbidding you of them
As they seductively
Dangle them before your eyes
Until you are so frustrated and unfulfilled
That you no longer
Care for your world.
This cracked glass remains empty
Even though it is constantly being filled
Then spilled or leaked on the floor
Until you learn to lap it up
Like the lapdog that you have become
For their amusement.
You remain with a love for freedom
But your cage is so large
That you think you are free
Lost in societal fantasy.
You think for a while
That these fantasies are real
Until you come to your senses that aren’t
As you join other fools
In comfort that you're not the only
Broken-back pack-mule.
But in spite of it all
And in the face of them all
Don't let these birds of prey
And powers that be
Deprive you of what they
cannot see
In that hidden corner
Of what is still untouched--
The real you
Uninfected by the world.
Take care of your spiritual affairs.
Don't let the global beast
And your primal hissing forces
Make you be your own pallbearer.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 6:28 PM UTC
How can my eyes hunger for tormentors bodies
where in my soul can I find desires for sadists
Eves threw on fitted coats of Marquis de Sade
borrowed his manuals and added even more pages
pierced the heart of a Dove defending his nest with lethal pins
And in joyous indignities with devilment aplomp
they reclined and crackled in wanton doltishness
He thinks of and desires us and wants to make amor with us
How can a heart marinated in love truely sincere
a soul ready to die rather than any harm to Eves
Be mother or sister or perchance even a stranger
alas in utter ********** and grotesque situation dire
Come undone with healthy pristine heart ripped to pieces
hung drawn and quartered and sliced in tiny morsels
Like fish baits for mice and minnows or hens clucking
All at the hands of Sirens who worshipped in Satan's cravens
How can a soul with only the spark of Salvation aglow
where it once housed his heart and enduring humanity
With brimful joy and devotions in fitting measures true
as all Eves where to him nowt but sisters and earth angels
Now his burning blood runs cold like rivelets in the Arctic
their words ring hollow and smiles shows rapiers of snakes
Nothing stirs desires for all Eves now seem and look like wicked corpses
Delilahs' wrecking vengeance on Samsons in wickedness supreme
[email protected] rights reserved
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC
I find the black
A pit of false safety
She yanks me out with her nasally voice
"You look pale"
I always look pale, why do you care now
"Go"
I take as long as possible to reach the destination I dread
Eyes stare at me calculating
I prefer to be invisible
"You have a headache"
"Not really" I just feel so light I could float away
"You look like you're in pain, want to lie down"
"Sure" less time in class, I hate children, peers, tormentors, judgers
I turn to my temporary escape
"Did you have breakfast"
**** I hesitate, barely, they notice
"Here, eat these"
A packet of crackers "Thanks"
Nibble one to humor them as I go
In the trash as soon as I leave
Spitting out what I didn't swallow
I lie down still so they forget I'm here
Clutching my head and my stomach
Finding the black
And wishing to be anyone else
Wanting to once and for all get rid of myself
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
Old Harold lived on the second floor
In a darkened room with an old locked door.
My cousins and I used to tease him there,
And he’d chase us out, give us a scare.
I didn’t know exactly who he was,
“He’s a mean old man,” said my favorite cos’.
“Grandma let him live here after Grandpa died.
She doesn’t even like him and we don’t know why.”
When he was out we would take a peek.
Around the ocher walls and his bed we’d sneak.
There was nothing but an iron bunk
And a glass-front chest filled with lots of junk.
One day Old Harold must have complained
About our pestering…we really were pains!
But no parent’s lecture could keep us away.
And Grandma’s yelling at him not to stay.
Old Uncle Harold disappeared for years.
We would make up stories for littler ears.
But one day my father had news of him.
He lived with “a harlot” and his checks she’d skim.
I was old enough to know what it meant
And asked Dad why uncle Harold seemed bent.
“He was gassed in the War in a field at Verdun.”
Dad told me in a tone that left me stunned;
“And was then sent around to pick up the dead.
With the gas and the horror, his mind just went.”
Now I recalled all the times we had teased
And agonized him when we should have pleased.
But now it was too late to apologize,
He was so lost, he wouldn’t recognize
His grown tormentors, when he hardly
Knew my father, the kindly mentor,
Who visited him every week,
Who paid for anything to make him last,
And reminded him of better times past;
Telling him of the time he caught a butterfly
And brought it to show the girls and guys.
How he wanted to let it fly away,
But when the boys had killed it anyway.
He cried and was called a coward then,
And as my father spoke and wept again.
Old Uncle Harold died alone
In a sterile, cold-floored nursing home.
None but Dad came to grieve
And I, only an hour away, shunned
the feeling and just felt numb,
Until Dad called and told me the story
Of Harold’s death and only then
Could I say, “I’m sorry!” to his ghost.
I should have said it long ago; the one who
Maddened him least repented the most.
If I could say “Sorry” for the times we made him shout.
I realised he’d just have yelled, “Get the hell out!”
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
This page and this pen
Express them again
These tormentors I keep deep inside
Ugly truths rattle out
From their cages they shout
Vile curses I just can't confine
I will cherish the day
They have nothing to say
Pure silence within chaos is bliss
But my my soul until then
Shall re-break and re-mend
Life's Demons
I truly won't miss
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
for now I feel the full weight of your words
back bent muscles ready to snap
and as I stagger along a flint strewn road
my feet cut bruised blue black
the shouts of tormentors reach my heart
once again the world crucifies a man
just a man, a mans truth embodied
you too stand in the crowd, and witness
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
Something snapped within her that day.
She felt a bullet go through her head,
Killing her spirit instantly.
Shock gripped her and she stood frozen
Until salty tears flowed freely.
She wondered, if her tormentors,
Those miserable egoists,
Understood the extent to which,
Their insensitivity had
Robbed her of her natural armour,
Standing outside in pouring rain,
Without raincoat or umbrella,
She was drenched almost to the bone.
Then looking to the heavens, she said
"Lord, I pray that this too shall pass"
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
sometimes i can't trust myself not
to buckle under the weight of
your near enough's and almost
words you can't quite force out from
between my teeth. like the accusatory
cutlery your eyes never fail to
reflect this would look better with
the lights off and between sheets but
then again i always have had trouble
with the twin tormentors dark
and sleeping. sometimes i feel as
though red is the only colour i know
and you insist on inhabiting it you have
ruined sunsets and arsenal and jelly
for me. like i was not made to walk
through fire just as well as ocean i have
merely forgotten the way spoon fed
on ashes and bad pennies glinting
off the electrics i refuse to give you
my spectrum. sometimes my
ribcage admirably lives up to its
name and i find myself choking
on thoughts i'd sworn not to
inhale. like non newtonian fluid
i have inherited your sudden cusps
and contradictions lit up momentarily
only to be put out when i am around you
i find myself craving cigarettes.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
It’s not always *****
And glass slippers
Handsome gloved fingers impeccably asking for
Just one dance
There aren’t always fairies with good intentions
And neatly pressed dresses
Popping out from
Rose bushes while you cry to
A mother grave
Sometimes dirt under fingernails
Doesn’t come off
Sometimes you learn to live by
Snatching crusts thrown in
Hot fires so you
Reach in to hunger
And come out with scarred fingers covered in ashes
Chores are not always performed
By animated, peeping creatures
And instead you know their presence in the dark as
Whispered tails run over your ratty hem
It’s not always a fairy-tale
Sometimes you sing harshly
To the tune of a whip on your back
As the words
**** from the cinders
Ring in your ears
But sometimes clever fingers steal material
Working late into the night
And pacts made with older Magic’s
Help you bewitch a prince so he sees
Only you
And sometimes you get to watch blood fall
On your wedding dress as your tormentors eyes
Are plucked out by winged doves
And you do feel happy
In the sunlight
Until in the dark, again
Hands run over you, whispering then
Biting like the rats
And you realize, lying back
That you have traded one form of servitude
For another
And happily-ever-after has
Only just begun.
Sep 2, 2009
Sep 2, 2009 at 7:46 PM UTC
Hate crimes are too cute of a name,
It's should be "crimes against humanity" or "humanity's ultimate shame".
Listen well,
For I have a story to tell.
God says to LOVE everyone,
No hate towards anyone.
However we see Christians say gay marriages are sins,
Hating on anyone who's different.
The bible was supposed to educate about love,
A word of peace and advice from the man above.
All those people mentioned had their own sins,
Each the same yet different.
However a true Christian would show nothing but love,
For it is HIS word, the man with the angels from above.
When those responsible for inflicting pain upon those who are different,
I can't wait for their reaction.
Because he will look down upon them and punish them for being tormentors,
Not his loyal followers.
Then there are those who aren't Christian,
Those who just don't like anyone who's different.
You all know who you are,
Your crimes against humanity are like deep tissued scars.
You hate on someone who has different colored skin,
You hate on them for all they've been.
You say they only take jobs and breathe our air,
Even though you know it's unfair.
It's not them you should be blaming for this,
Blame the government.
They were born that way,
They didn't have a say.
All those who've blamed others due to their skin color is a *****
Your entire mindset should be gone.
"These Mexicans are taking our jobs",
No they are not.
They're doing what you would do,
Work even though it's hard and new.
You shouldn't blame a certain race because you're so insignificant and unable to work,
You would do the same if you were in the same situation as him or her.
"We need to stop these illegals from coming in",
I get it but don't punish the person.
They work hard, it's not their fault that they want the American dream,
Even though it is only a dream.
Instead of hating on humanity,
Why don't you do something for everybody?
Stop being a vile idiot,
Do something that's worth it.
It's time for us to stop blaming others,
We are in charge of our destinies to make it better.
Stop with the prejudices,
Stop with the injustices.
Stop the hate,
Deal with the problems that are to blame.
This isn't a fantasy,
This is reality!
Now shut up and quit your hate,
You're in charge of your own fate.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
Without motivations nagging push,
I fear I am nothing but an ant;
doomed to be weak and easily looked over.
Without fear and doubt, each standing
on opposing shoulders, I am
alone.
Some days, these are the only
beings who will talk to me.
What choices do I have, other than to listen?
However, at the sight of another's smile, my personal
tormentors are caught powerless.
The constant, biting, unwanted input will
subside. And the world will keep
spinning on its axis as it has before
my time, and my mother's, and her mother's.
I
am not scared, because I don't want to be. I am the
controller of my emotions. The controller of other's emotions.
I
am the one to make people smile.
I
have this power, and my demons do not. I will abuse my
power, and shoo the bad tidings away from others, while hoping
they do the same for me.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
What i am to them is an ornament.
My value is determined by the scales they use.
Freedom is a dream that looks far from reality.
Freedom is for the full who's destined for poverty.
A puppet of their play, they control me with strings.
Make me dance the mariet and clap hands and their so called brilliance.
A pawn in their game, they expect me to win.
Feed me steroids of spiritual wisdom and belief, to become the warrior destined to free them from their doom and misery.
The mascot they use to boost their fame.
Expect me to tell the world, they're the reason i am this way.
A well disciplined, obedient good mannered boy.
Parents and teacher.
The wardens of teenagers.
The tormentors of my soul.
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 3:17 AM UTC
Even before 1619 chains and tormentors guided our fate’s
Decisions made by masters of disasters, calamity incarnate
Strict with the lash, fast with cash, made to be last
Ground into mash and left in the past
Hundreds of years drowning in the struggle
Voices ignored and submerged into a gurgle
Each strike an etching of fear to remind of us we belong in the rear
We belong under their heel, we belong in a field
Our place standing as equal, not real
'1865 and the wool is pulled further over our eye’s
The lies fly fast when equality is subject
You matter, you’re worthy, you’re heard and valued
Just enough to serve and just enough to observe
Now they tell me we’ve been unshackled from the hassle
Now our voices are as powerful as the masters
Now actions matter
With my newfound freedom, I looked behind the curtain
Found a sinister grin hiding a truth that leads us right back to where we began
Where my freedom of choice is blocked by the path to move forward
Where my value is determined buy profits that profit from me as a product
Forever a slave to shackles of titles that never really matter
Shackles of false power and influence
Shackles of masters too blind to see the new face staring at them from inside the veil
Forever beaten blue and yellow.
Nov 13, 2021
Nov 13, 2021 at 10:17 PM UTC
Facing your darkest fears
Waking up in cold sweats
Going to the mirror
And what do I see
Me..
But I see the cuts on her skin
Blood flowing from each wound
Pooling on her chest
Her shirt is ripped
Blood soaked
As pieces of bone
Are easily shown
She smiled
With the ****** mouth
What is the matter
I am you
You ignored me for too long
Ill show you what you do not wish to see
She reached through the glass
Grabbing my arms and pull me through
I saw tortured souls
Chained to the ground
As their tormentors whipped them
The whips tore their flesh from bone
As she lead me further
I saw demons doing strange rituals
Sacrificing souls to fill their masters desires.
I turn to run back
To escape into my safe world
Chains shackle my wrists and ankles as the sky darkens
To a dark crimson
She laughs and pulls the chains
Dragging me until I fall back onto
A cold stone slab alter
I try to struggle
Only to hear sinister laughter
A flash of silver
Before my eyes
A flash of pain in my chest
And smell of blood
Fill the air as my heart
Is carved from my chest
The chains grow slack and fall away
As my life force flows forth
Along the ground
I draw my last breath
And die...
Blinking rapidly
I am back in my room
I see her smile
A heart chilling smile
Death lingering on her lips
"Show me your greatest fears
And I will show you eternal hell
I promise...."
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 1:06 AM UTC
aloof alphas attack!
banal betas boom, before backing
cautiously, creeping
down, defensible dark
estuaries, estranged escapes
from fierce fiery-eyed
giant gators gathered,
hard hearted hedged
in impossible illumination, irate
jowly jeering jaded jackals
**** **** **** …
let loose low laughs
making much mirth mercilessly
now none need nourishment
oblivious obvious, overt
a putrescent phalanx,
quite quintessential a querulous quorum
a quatre
raucous resounding raptorials retreated
subsequently seizing sizeable sarcoid
sections in scissor strokes
total tormentors, that time twists the
ugly utilitarian
veracious victory
works the wild
yearning as
zealots
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
"BE NOT AFRAID OF THEM THAT **** THE BODY."
( for Wendy Falla )
Perotine Massey
is giving birth
amidst the flames
of 1556.
Her belly bursts open
with the fire's ire
and her fair-haired man child
is born in Death's embrace
"to be consumed
to ashes."
A man named House
snatches the new born from the flames.
But the child is ordered to be
thrown back!
Birth and Death
the same to him.
A born martyr.
An horrendous Herodian act
by this "...graceless generation
of Popish tormentors..."
this the era of Mary ****** Tudor.
Now over 400 years away
I stare into the Past
the heat of this summer's day
making my skin blsiter
a yellow butterfly alights upon
the Commemorative bronzed words
held in place
by a spider's web
it trembles every
now and then
in both past
and present
flying between
both times
"...faithful unto
death..."
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 5:31 PM UTC
Little needle face,
With a long pink dress and teeth
Too big for your mouth,
You are but a doll
with a back breaking slouch and
chest made from cotton//
your
Little needle hands
the machine that
stitched yourself
Together, the twine that
holds your heart
In place a
Jagged knot of
Cage and wire.
Little needle girl,
with a button nose and stringy
hair,
Please
***** all your tormentors
The way I could never ***** mine,
And
never grow your body
Back
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
For Three years we had been used as slaves,
since surrendering to the Japanese.
We’d been starved, beaten and abused
and lived in filth and misery.
We’d heard they planned to **** us all
once it was clear they’d lose the war.
We’d lived in fear, like Damocles,
waiting for the day Japan would fall.
Then came the news of Victory
and our tormentors disappeared.
More eager, then, to save themselves
Than carry out the order we had feared.
Beneath my bunk a treasure hid,
concealed there from the Japanese.
It was saved from the fall of Singapore,
then passed through several hands to me.
We struck down their flag, the rising sun,
for we were sure their sun had set.
We replaced it with the Stars and Stripes,
Around that banner we rallied yet.
Hearts filled with pride, we stood as men
and saluted the red white and blue.
We were like scarecrows dressed in rags,
but we knew that this ordeal was through.
Our air force dropped us food supplies
and shortly after we entrained.
We’d made a bonfire of the camp
to consume the memory of our pain.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
Tears streaked down his cheeks,
Why didn't they realize it hurt.
It started with a single word.
"Useless" and they killed him.
Days turned into months.
Yet his tormentors didn't let him go.
Angry, bitter, afraid and left alone,
Like arrows, the words began to pierce his soul.
Weak. Stupid. Idiot. ****
The voices in his head,
Were no longer his friends.
Useless filth why not end it?
Left alone, with those brutal voices.
With those horrible fears,
Alone with those terrible words,
He took to the blade.
He watched the blood leave his veins,
His skin grow cold and pale.
USELESS. USELESS. USELESS.
Carved forever on his skin.
No goodbyes, no more horror.
After having written down,
All the secrets he could spill,
Before dosing on a dozen sleeping pills.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 3:16 AM UTC
I am the slayer of the shadows
Conqueror of the Night
I wield the sword of the Suns
and I cast upon the grounds
the tormentors of fright.
But it seems the the dark has the upper hand
for this world needs more heroes like me
I alone fight as hard as I can
but the brighter I shine in this land
the stronger the shadows I can see
For every darkness that I defeat
in the name of a thousand suns
The blacker the world becomes.
If there were other heroes like myself
wielding the sword of truth, justice, and light
than there will be no place for the dark to hide
and the world would be a free of evil and hate
But alas, I fear that heroes are few and far between
And I should lay down my sword, for without my light
there would be nothing to fear, as there would be nothing to fight.
May 14, 2011
May 14, 2011 at 6:45 PM UTC
Wandering soul innocent and free
You keep destroying the warrior inside of me
I try to harden and fight against the reaper
I sink into the dark abyss deeper
Still looking for a way out
I keep going down the wrong route
They think I'm not that strong
Those idiots are completely wrong
They killed me but death itself fears what it didn't know
The raging demon locked in my soul
I'll use this strength to punish the tormentors
Waiting for us to overstep our mentors
Living each day with horrar and pain
The darkness inside driving us insane
Trying to find what they call mosia...
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
Her happy wasn't happy. She didn't have happy.
She had sadness.
Or she had nothingness.
and the nothingness was so much worse than the sadness.
Feeling nothing at all was worse than the most excruciating pain she had ever been through. It tortured her more than all those nights of crying herself to sleep. It ate at her more than all her tormentors' words. And it left more scars than all her cuts.
Her happy wasn't happy.
It was sadness,
because the alternative was nothingness.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC