 |
Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
|
||||
| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 17:40:44 AEST | ||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
Array
(
[sid] => 43290
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => the voices and the children
[time] => 2004-04-14 22:21:49
[hometext] => don't you see, it wasn't me. it was them. it was the voices.
[bodytext] => it started off as white noise constant in my head i got used to it after awhile but words began to break through the wall of white noise inside words that i didn't want to hear voices that told me things more disturbing than the sick scenes i usually thought of i'd be lying if i said that didn't scare me more often they came more insistent they became until i couldn't find a moments peace and i would break down in tears because there was simply nothing else i could do i fought them don't think i didn't with every ounce of will that i've ever possessed each night i would lay down sure that i had won and each morning i would wake to their shrieks and see that i had lost (she was sleeping curled up and beautiful her peaceful face bringing memories of every kiss we shared) the hands that grabbed the pillow were no longer mine and those eyes that wouldn't shed a tear as she struggled for air those eyes were no longer mine don't you see, it wasn't me it was them it was the voices then children started to disappear every night a new set of parents would weep on my TV screen eight kids gone the panic grew and it got so hard to find one alone but the voices always knew where to go it made me sick the things "i" did but i couldn't stop i couldn't help myself don't you see, it wasn't me it was them it was the voices blood lust and heart hate sated i slept each night without a dream a brief glimpse of peace, before awakening to the nightmare of the voices scream (so many little eyes staring at me through the glaze of death and shock so many little lives taken by me there's only one way out) the last child tonight i'll set things right once the filthy deeds are done my hands still wet with youthful blood the voices fed and sleeping on the floor surrounded by their little heads i stroke them and beg each for forgiveness and before i put the pistol in my mouth and blow the ***** voices out i scrawl on the wall with the blood of dead children... "don't you see, it wasn't me it was them it was the voices" [comments] => 5 [counter] => 219 [topic] => 59 [informant] => Cancer [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => psychoticpoems )
|
Menu
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©
Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster
All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com
All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.
Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com