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Array
(
[sid] => 150154
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Porcelain Boy
[time] => 2009-05-25 17:28:53
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => He's sitting by the stairs. His heart beating Through his chest Waiting for the door to open He wished, his tears run less. Clutching that pretty butcher knife He couldn't bear it anymore Hiding his face under a blanket Shielding his baby blues So the fist wouldn't scar them His ankles bashed the hardboard Anxious? No. Just broken. Just sore. The purple on his wrist Caught the attention of his eyes He hid his arms in regret That he let this man ruin his life Well, it would be no more When he came through that door He'll reject the thumps. The pain, the slowing of his bloodstream That moment he dreams That the ground would swallow his body whole Cause the bruises ached right into his soul Door knob His heart, almost stops And he stares into the eyes Of the man who takes his life His fear. The butcher knife it falls from his hands He stares at the floor Feels the kick in his guts His insides tearing up Pleads to God to take him away Tastes the blood slide down his tummy Hugs himself a rocking chair In the mirror, a stranger stares The bruises, the scars Those painful marks. They fade His father's hand squeezing the life Out of his heart? Forever. That stays. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 197 [topic] => 32 [informant] => amber_vonHorror [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => SadPoetry )
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