Tainted I am and I shall remain mad, not as in anger but a tad bit insane. Sadness, a sickness with no known cure, an epidemic ~ of this I’m sure. Defeated, I wave my flag in the air. A prison of my own I sit in despair. If I close my eyes will it all remain the same, to open them would bring no change. A teardrop made of blood leaks from my eye, no longer living I now wait to die, Or maybe it is I’m already dead and voices linger still in my head. Confused not by questions but answers within, a losing battle I’m unable to win. When will it be over, when can I rest my head, when will the voices be silenced instead. Instead of the screaming, blaming, being accused, now the abuser, no longer abused. At least not by another, see I did this to me on my quest for rest, for eternity.
By Frankie Carter