| "Shutup, you fucking idiot!" |
| a voice screams out in the back of my head. |
| Footsteps, I hear someone running. |
| Sobs and teardrops litter the ground. |
| But it's the rational side! |
| What the fuck is going on |
| when it's the rational side who's yelling |
| and the rational side who's crying |
| and the rational side who's stabbing himself |
| with a pitchfork? |
| What the hell do you do |
| when the sky is melting? |
| I'm bleeding, |
| He runs, fast, away, |
| glancing over his shoulder- |
| trying to escape from himself. |
| Running to his father's house- |
| the only place nearby, |
| that he might find safety. |
| The place where he found safety |
| so many years ago. |
| But his father is dead now. |
| Only his mother lives there. |
| Will she help him? |
| "Mother! Mother! |
| I'm bleeding!" |
| He looks over his shoulder, |
| "I'm bleeding, mother" |
| he says, asking for help |
| from her, for only the second time |
| in his life. |
| "Mother..." he says, disparaging. |
| The chase is coming, he must take heed. |
| He flies, bolts out the backdoor, |
| and sprints into the forest, |
| a little boy in torn clothes |
| with a scare in his eyes, |
| looking and searching for shelter, |
| from the cruelty of the world. |
| Run. Run far. |
| He runs. |
| He runs through the forest, |
| through the darkness beneath the trees |
| between the screams and the howls |
| of what hides in the dark. |
| And Blam. |
| What immerges from the other side, |
| vstands tall in a dark cloak |
| and has murder written all over its wretchedness. |
| A smirk scrawls itself across the face of the rational side, |
| ready to get its revenge on humanity (once more). |
Not so much a poem as... trying to express myself for others (yeah yeah, don't give me that crap, that's not what _I_ mean when I say it's a poem, when I say it's a poem that means it's artful, this is just metaphorical and stuff... without being artful). 8/6/03