Detestation
There was never a thing, Missed more, Than the love of the dearest family. Yet how would I know? I stand in the blood of the nearest thing, And I hold the cursed piece of metal in my hand, As if a favorite toy. They never loved me, They never cared. So how would I know? I have watched others, Loathingly saw, All the care, And attention they received, Instead of I. That's how I know. That's why I am here. That's why they are gone, To a place I shall never see, And refuse to go to be.
Rudyard Ascher · Mon Jun 23, 2008 @ 12:44am · 0 Comments |