The nails rip through wooden boards,
penetrating my tiny little feet,
blood flows like a red flush shore-line,
as I fall, they stab veins at my wrist.
Back as black before addicted to pills,
well before clouds washed over me,
it goes back to the days in kindergarten,
a certain book in a pile, that's forbidden,
Sunniest days of rain, under sheets,
skinny as a rake, she never found me,
huffs & puffs, gave up after 30 seconds,
and I slowed down after my breathes
stoning memory, a gush to the side of his head,
mother's orders, I still remember sadistic smile,
forced to watch, trembling came over all of me,
he always copped it worse than the rest of us.
You can't judge me, for my alcoholism,
as poets we are all either saved or ****** up,
I don't wish to be saved, so just give it up,
my cup may be half empty but its always full,
This world wasn't built for two,
I only ever see it as built for a fool,
and as the years become decades,
I swim outside the red flags.
I refuse to write one like this again about my past. You want the monster, you have me nailed in this poem. This is just a small bite.
