r33hash
11-28-2006, 12:00 PM
I try and I try so hard to cry. Like wanting tears of rain to fall from the sky. To wash my pain down a drain and rinse my eyes. But no matter how hard I strain, God won't give me a moment of his time. I find myself lying on the ground, so dry and un-alive without sound. A ground as dead as my soul feels inside. I've given up striving to live the good life, when hooded dreams and dark knives continue you strike me.
Stories of wives and happy lives haunt me, wanting a family, but failing so dauntily. Unfaltering faults pelt my heart like jump starting a car whose engine just isn't worth borrowing. These streets with spray painted dreams unseen by majority of this world's richest fiends portray stories like mine. A fight to survive. A need to feel alive. A desire to confide in someone worth loving, even lightly. A coveted sense of deserved belonging that everyone needs will never taste too strongly.
A child whose beaten bruises so bright still hopes through the darkness that someone will show him light. A hooker with books of sexual disasters only desires to be loved and flattered. A girl with holes of white horses up her arm, dreaming daily of what she could and should have become. A broken black man, beaten another color, labeled as a ****** by his own "loving" white father.
Painful pictures portrayed through hitched doorways like governments hiding truths and punishing with poor wages. A note undetected by a suicidal candidate, ignored by his parents and left to be discovered dead. What more must happen for them to gain focus? So-called "bogus attempts for that boy to get noticed". Failure to acknowledge those in need, quite often leads to self inflicted deeds of mistreating bodies and cutting and bleeding. Then, to hide the evidence, they wear long sleeves.
Believe me, I know what it feels like to hurt. I've cut, I've burned, and relieved the pain with worse. Pain is motivation to get things done. Pain pushes us past the nooses and guns. I try and I try to cry the hurt good-bye. But when tears refuse to fall, I've got nowhere else to confide.
Stories of wives and happy lives haunt me, wanting a family, but failing so dauntily. Unfaltering faults pelt my heart like jump starting a car whose engine just isn't worth borrowing. These streets with spray painted dreams unseen by majority of this world's richest fiends portray stories like mine. A fight to survive. A need to feel alive. A desire to confide in someone worth loving, even lightly. A coveted sense of deserved belonging that everyone needs will never taste too strongly.
A child whose beaten bruises so bright still hopes through the darkness that someone will show him light. A hooker with books of sexual disasters only desires to be loved and flattered. A girl with holes of white horses up her arm, dreaming daily of what she could and should have become. A broken black man, beaten another color, labeled as a ****** by his own "loving" white father.
Painful pictures portrayed through hitched doorways like governments hiding truths and punishing with poor wages. A note undetected by a suicidal candidate, ignored by his parents and left to be discovered dead. What more must happen for them to gain focus? So-called "bogus attempts for that boy to get noticed". Failure to acknowledge those in need, quite often leads to self inflicted deeds of mistreating bodies and cutting and bleeding. Then, to hide the evidence, they wear long sleeves.
Believe me, I know what it feels like to hurt. I've cut, I've burned, and relieved the pain with worse. Pain is motivation to get things done. Pain pushes us past the nooses and guns. I try and I try to cry the hurt good-bye. But when tears refuse to fall, I've got nowhere else to confide.