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With Love
May 24, 2015
O' the rotting flesh,
the greased down curly locks,
snow white skin I know the best.
The smell of decay wafting-
like a ballerina's delicate dance-
across the tiled floor.
Permanantly closed eyes-
never to see again-
O' do you terrify.
The world beat down on you
Didn't it?
Realeasing the hounds to lacerate
your skin.
Pummeling your spirit,
Tearing out your soul,
corrupting your happiness,
So you're depressed until you're old.
They did this to you?
Didn't they?
Well, now they cna't harm you,
You've pur yourself inside
a sheilded mahogany box
and now you can't breathe.
Are you happy now?
How could you do this to me?
© Chris C., Pequannock, NJ
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I thought my friend was going to commit suicide, and when he didn't show up to school for a few days without me hearing from him at all, I panicked and began to worry. He showed up eventully (totally fine) and acted like nothing had happened. He didn't know what guilt and pain he put me through from his absense, so in anger I wrote this for him.