Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
No more
I'm scared,
Hiding in the blackened corners
Of my piss-poor memory.
Around the bend, he comes.
The memory of those sick deeds
Ingrained scars upon my body.
Dirty hands going higher,
I feel the ruin of innocence.
Higher still, and I blank it all out
Until one day, I stumble upon the truth,
And try to vomit it from my stomach
Where it sits and marinates.
Higher, to the finish, the pain carves
A mark upon my no longer innocent body.
I wish for death.
I beckon for it to come.
I want to die,
As he has his way with a child
Too fragile to tell.
I remember being unscathed,
But it's so brief,
It might as well have no existed at all.
7-8-11
Hiding in the blackened corners
Of my piss-poor memory.
Around the bend, he comes.
The memory of those sick deeds
Ingrained scars upon my body.
Dirty hands going higher,
I feel the ruin of innocence.
Higher still, and I blank it all out
Until one day, I stumble upon the truth,
And try to vomit it from my stomach
Where it sits and marinates.
Higher, to the finish, the pain carves
A mark upon my no longer innocent body.
I wish for death.
I beckon for it to come.
I want to die,
As he has his way with a child
Too fragile to tell.
I remember being unscathed,
But it's so brief,
It might as well have no existed at all.
7-8-11
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