Formative Years

This dark decay that guides my way;

A mould of mind that’s shaped my kind.

My kind who dwell on the outskirts of hell;

Trying in vain to be free from this stain.


To be carried away when you just want to stay,

By one sworn to protect; paternalism unchecked.

Has this left its mark in my conscience so dark?

These questions that ring, only madness they bring.


The damage it does, that stings, all abuzz;

Held deep in its cage by bars built from rage

That do all they can to stick to their plan,

And hold back this torrent that strikes without warrant.


I’m a shell filled with fears that never bleeds tears;

From them I’ll run, so I won’t be undone

By this cruel cold disease that has festered with ease;

Just biding its time until living’s a crime.


This mark left from youth; A tattoo of truth.

Ever poisoned inside, left with nowhere to hide.

The darkest depths of those innocent steps,

That jar in my thoughts as the child in me rots.


Broken home buried below white hot fury, like fresh fallen snow.

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