Poezja

I like when the blood becomes a puddle
When I am on the ground in a huddle
I like when I get dizzy and tired
Or when I’m so excited I’m wired
So the hurt you give is nice
And a smile would reach my face of ice
Warmed by your expression and frozen by lack of help
Cutting me again not hearing me yelp
A giggle escapes my blue lips
And something in your mind skips
You’ve got it don’t you torturer of one
That numbness has kissed my body and I am done
So whip again for I do not care
I will smile so wide in this dead stare
On this cold concrete floor I lay
In the room plain like my soul empty and gray
To see you locking that painted red door
As I count days and you keep score
Nails bleed as I scratch in another line
As my mind goes to turn on the vacancy sign
Time for my happy place until then
Waiting for you tomorrow to enter again
Now repetition it my only friend
That I have to depend                                                                                                                
Did you put me here on purpose Sweet
Or am I blamed that I can’t stand on my feet                                                                          
And so grief stricken I wish for death
Cursing this in and out movement of breath                                                                                    
No I don’t think I can blame
That once smiling child in that picture frame                             
You don’t want the world to see your mistake
So you create a reason so fake
My Room (continued) 
What is the use? Just kill the child                                               
Me! Your daughters’ emotions are mild                                     
Give it up it is over don’t you know                                             
Still you open that door and make blood flow                            
Red as the door and my skin turns as the walls                        
And I swear I hear God’s gracing calls                                              
I match pale gray as my skin turns                                              
And pain grips my stomach to make it churn                          
Does this story ever finish?                                                             
Or this sadness ever diminish                                                             
No I would say not                                                                              
For I speak in my poems where I will rot                                     
So sad but true my precious reader                                               
To take this song but I can’t be the leader                             
Because the game of tag I can’t win                                            
That is why I end this poem in a sin                                                
I must tell you that you will never read this                                 
For I can’t take away your ignorant bliss                                       
So I waste my time writing on this thin sheet                   
Waiting for him to come in and beat                                          
The living hell out of my limbs                                                       
As the light around my eyes dim                                                
And close my eyes happily without asking why                         
But wait why do you cry? My poor pain giver                           
With tears so big it caused a rapid river
Now I don’t know at all nor understand                                             
Was it my fault all along I do so demand                                                                             
How sad I caused you pain by my poem ink
As I slip deeper in to a blood pool I sink
Torturer I am so sorry it is true
What now? Is it to late! What can I do?
Wait! Don’t leave me I get it
Why you beat Sweet. Why you hi