Poetry

Open the book,
And turn the page.
You'll see what I,
Went through at each age.

Years one through ten,
I was perfect as can be.
But after eleven,
Things changed as you will see.

As I grew older,
My pain became clear.
My eyes were always shining,
Because they were holding back the tears.

I started getting into,
Things I know I shouldn't have.
Then I saw,
How it made my friends sad.

A few began,
To see the scars.
Not knowing the pain,
That made me go far.

Hardly any warning,
Would I heed.
Then you turn the page,
And it's hard to read.

The next few pages,
Were smeared with blood.
The words you could read spoke,
Of blood flowing out like a flood.

The words you read,
Are too painful to repeat.
It was so horrifying,
You couldn't stay in your seat.

It was hard for me to write,
When the pages were being stained red.
But I needed to write out my life,
Before I was dead.

I felt that if I didn't,
I would have been of no use.
Like there was no reason for me to be good,
I might as well have let the monster loose.

It's getting harder for me to write,
Because my blood keeps smearing.
I can barely see,
Because my eyes are tearing.

So I'll be quick,
I will be fast.
For the life I have left,
Will no longer last.

I'm sorry for all the pain,
That I have put you through.
Through these blood smeared pages I'm saying to my friends and family,
Good bye, I'm sorry, and I love you.