'Ah, the little dears are squealing with pain,
How joyous! '
How joyous indeed,
'Oh joyous rapture! '
Mouth quivers in the lips of a madman
Too many times have you (I) felt such a way,
Too far (thus far)
Too many (too much you mean)
Stick my hands through sharp butcher knives
Smelling for blood (sniff sniff)
And you (I) shall giggle
'Hee hee.'
Rip my soul a thousand times over
I will shiver with glee
'Stop, stop, stop tickling me! '
Hm, too much you say?
Too much for myself, too many voices
You (I) am too much for a mere human
My mind has been raped over and over again until
My nerves regress to bloody murder (hell)
You (I) am tortured inside and you (I)
Can hold,
Thyself (hold me)
Beat upon the tiled walls
It’s real
All of it’s
Real
They hurt
You (I) ,
they bleed
why do my wounds open
and close
over and over
again
why must it be that my (your)
soul
that is
torn
over and under
ripped, shredded, excavated!
Cry myself to sleep
'Ssh deary, tis fine,
In the morning perhaps
Yes
Perhaps.'
Place me in the crazy house now before…
(before I hurt someone)
I break
You break
Bloody murder.
Red. Red blood,
And a madman who reopens
Wounds
Over and over
Again.
Yazzy Nixon
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/save-me-64/
