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Array
(
[sid] => 169387
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => bully
[time] => 2011-12-17 15:18:36
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => I am a wall of self-loathing and doubt with gingerbread bricks, and marzipan mortar I tried, but It didn’t take long for it to begin for soon the kids found out and my lie was exposed. a sickly-sweet rubble picked at by sweet toothed assassins. examined was I By those eyes those hard, disappointed eyes. All relieved by the comfort that this little I Was less of a man And I knew not to try, Mere fancy would hide in this poor, masochistic fool the laughing stock of the school. My nemesis, each pair of eyes, finding their way to pierce my soul in binocular jabs rendering me useless five columns by six rows go back but never retreat ready for attack... I only know defeat. A comment is made and they look for reaction I feel my inaction, my arms go so weak And my eyes cannot gaze. Anxiety enters the room at the left As the clock ticks, but all I hear is my own thumping echoing all, shattering senses but these bastards scream and shout, oblivious as they bathe in the translucent fat rendered waste and the heat is turned up I can’t erase each icy cold moment As the threads are severed in calculated disharmony they revel in those tiny, unsaid actions that decide the hierarchy in any situation. A game I just don't understand. Their entertainment astounds me Paralyzed, as my bones are picked by the hunted, now hunters- Letting out exuberant anger at their own compromise filled existence. I lack persistence whatever the distance or angle I can only cope with this thing without coping I swear soon that I will be needing a rope And I’ll swing No longer remember a thing, nor be remembered Nor be a stain on my name Such cruel luck That this soft soapy ***** Is called Mr. Savage. on a good day Grave’s spin Bell rings, it's not quite break so the tag team exchange high fives and low voices for these ones are older they’re heavier, bolder, altogether colder Head teacher? I told her I needed a break... My mistake. I used to have dreams, I had failed as a preacher They made me a teacher My character wavered I could not build bridges Was too fond of fridges I ate my despair at my lacking of hair amongst other things. Yet I dreamed that one day That they would think good of me. What a fool Bags kicked, door slammed ,next lesson= history (if only) With Mr. Kenyon. A real man, a teacher He’s not a fake A placebo A dud Or a ***** mistake. I despair…. Though there’s one thing I’ll share A crumb of comfort in a kicked in cake tin. I am of use in a way that's not so easy to see for whilst they have me A diversion exists. For the bullied can rest knowing I’ll take a bullet For each ugly mullet Or cross-eye Or fatty Or Weedy Or scar face Or burnt chest Or withery with vest or hole in heart legs apart whore. I'll take a bullet Quietly seizing the moment a crescendo is reached. What might be lost? heat turns to frost as taut is wound too tight to teach... I take the bullet amidst all the poisonous sniggers and they all press the trigger. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 198 [topic] => 31 [informant] => poeticjestix [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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