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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Tragedy · #1306338
Poetry spawned from an abusive childhood.
S.O.S.

Son of a sadist where ever I go.
Son of a sadist, I wished they all could know.
Son of a sadist, but everyone says no.
Why could I not be heard?
And what made them think my blood would not curd?
Why did it always seem so fun to have a naked and bloodied son?
I know their laughter continues to kill,
always and forever, the family joke until my last will.
© Copyright 2007 Ohiyesa Sipapu (onlyopeth at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1306338-SOS