Daily Prompt, humor, poetry, Stories, thoughts

Mythical poetry

bad poetry

You treated our world like a mythical story.
To you it was always nugatory.
You were nothing short of predatory.
So you could condemn my life to purgatory.

Alone I sit in this cold darkened room.
The dead soul that was once your groom.
You’ve plunged me into a world of gloom.
Even the rats wont visit this stinking tomb.

Fingernails grate down the cold stone wall.
Screams of pain, on deaf ears they fall.
Blood dripping down like unreadable scrawl.
You’ve locked me inside my own death hall.

Arm outstretched, right hand balled into a fist.
My life, my pain, my feelings, always dismissed.
My cracked and bloody lips you’ve never kissed.
Yet still you refuse to let me slash my wrist.

My every word you must misquote.
Doesn’t matter whether it’s spoken or wrote.
All you could ever do was stand there and gloat.
If you could let me go YOU’D cut my throat.

Of my own life I’ll soon be an absentee.
You’ve chosen to make me an amputee.
But you still remain my biggest devotee.
And you can’t stand the thought of setting me free.

Your life requires my every breath.
It’s like an addiction to crystal meth.
A tragedy, you are just like Mcbeth.
Why wont you let me have my death?

At ripping me apart you’ve worked time and a half.
Dishing out the abuse, the world can hear you laugh.
My death you have made sure to choreograph.
These words will be my final epitaph.

With no remorse you broke my backbone.
My death you were happy to condone.
When they’ve finally etched my name in stone.
Will you have even tried to atone?

14 Comments

  1. Wow! Powerful and haunting, so much raw emotion!

  2. Died as a result of bad poetry … a very nice picture … but do not say it too loud here at WordPress

  3. Whatever that is in your head that you express so vehemently, get it out! I think it’s tongue in cheek and then read the comments and wonder if it’s truly satire. Then again in order to create, you have to be a little nutty

    • I have never confessed to being sane or normal. As for getting things out of my head they only get replaced by something else when they do come out. Considering I have been writing horror and murder type stories since I was 14 it’s hardly surprising more of that shit is stuck in my head. Some people have internet histories full of porn, I have an internet history full of researching medieval torture.

  4. The poor sport was from this: when my kids were little they liked to play in the finished basement while the grown ups were talking upstairs. My niece was usually bugging the other kids to death. She was little, but a terror. One time she came up fuming. She said seriously, Trace ( my daughter) is being a poor sport. We all just started laughing, family joke ever since. So no offense. Sometimes I assume (and you know what that means) were all on the same track.

    • It’s not often a case of not being on the same track, it’s more often a case choosing the different track to be silly. I know what you meant by poor sport but I chose to play around with the words.

Got something to say? Drop it here!

Theme adapted by Krafty Presentations & Graphics

%d bloggers like this: