Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Are we not one in the same?
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But have you ever tried it?
I'm a ghost with a killer's passion,
Looking for the victim so I can
Rip his skin from his body.
But I walk in shadows,
And he, in sunlight.
So grasping him is a challenge.
However, I harbor the fangs
That will rip into his flesh and tear out
Chunks of muscle and fat, all
Dripping with his tainted blood.
He means nothing to me,
In a way that makes him mean the world to me.
How can you hurt a man like that?
Will slitting his throat and watching the
Blood spray inkblots on the wall
Truly make me feel avenged?
Or am I sick and twisted, looking for
Vengeance when I should be slitting my own wrists.
When I was a child knowing nothing
Other than a world of toys and imagination,
He turned a sick fantasy onto me.
And while he got his pleasure from me,
I sank further into despair until
I escape his gnarled chains.
I made myself forget, but I made myself remember,
And now he haunts every corner of my mind.
When he smiles at me now,
I dream of ripping out his organs, one by one.
I fantasize about the day we're putting him
In a casket six feet under.
I look forward to the day I don't have to avoid
The ones that I love, because he lingers...
Though my mind is corrupt with cobwebs of evil,
So cross my heart, pray to die,
Stick a needle in my eye so that I might blind myself
From such blistering hatred.
In the end, I see this sloth, and I want to kill him
And the intensity of my rage is so hot,
That all I can do is walk away.
I take revenge on myself, knowing he'll suffer regardless.
4-9-12
But have you ever tried it?
I'm a ghost with a killer's passion,
Looking for the victim so I can
Rip his skin from his body.
But I walk in shadows,
And he, in sunlight.
So grasping him is a challenge.
However, I harbor the fangs
That will rip into his flesh and tear out
Chunks of muscle and fat, all
Dripping with his tainted blood.
He means nothing to me,
In a way that makes him mean the world to me.
How can you hurt a man like that?
Will slitting his throat and watching the
Blood spray inkblots on the wall
Truly make me feel avenged?
Or am I sick and twisted, looking for
Vengeance when I should be slitting my own wrists.
When I was a child knowing nothing
Other than a world of toys and imagination,
He turned a sick fantasy onto me.
And while he got his pleasure from me,
I sank further into despair until
I escape his gnarled chains.
I made myself forget, but I made myself remember,
And now he haunts every corner of my mind.
When he smiles at me now,
I dream of ripping out his organs, one by one.
I fantasize about the day we're putting him
In a casket six feet under.
I look forward to the day I don't have to avoid
The ones that I love, because he lingers...
Though my mind is corrupt with cobwebs of evil,
So cross my heart, pray to die,
Stick a needle in my eye so that I might blind myself
From such blistering hatred.
In the end, I see this sloth, and I want to kill him
And the intensity of my rage is so hot,
That all I can do is walk away.
I take revenge on myself, knowing he'll suffer regardless.
4-9-12
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Are we not one in the same?
Are we not one in the same?
