Can we hear things in the womb? Do we dreams words, what is being said? I am sure we do. |
-Sore and Sick- by Keaton Foster Sore and sick Near my death Finality has come No more can I resist I must embrace All that I’ve done All that I’ve failed to do There is only one chance One ride upon the horse There is no tomorrow Because for me There never was meant to be My diatribe will remain Words for the ageless Words not to live by But rather A lesson of sorts Take from it What you will What you can You owe me nothing And I owe you even less Our mutual exclusivity Within this calamity Is quite apparent Sore and sick A disease with no chance When I was a child I heard others saying This creation of yours This one not meant to be Is a sickly abomination Of our gods good graces Terminate his existence Because he will grow wicked Spoiled upon the ideas Of his uninterested creation He will never let it go He will never forget The words uttered here He will hold everything in peril He will destroy himself But not until he destroys As many of us as he can Let him die So that we may live He is a sin Ours to be exact End his suffering So that it does not Become any of ours That is all that was said All that was confessed I never heard another word At least not ones That would make a difference Sore and sick Indeed I still remember when In my mother’s womb Those words rang out Coming to me as a dream Coming to me as a scream In my head it has since been Kicking around Breaking all rationale down Tearing apart my sanity Causing me to flee humanity Hiding from everything outside I sit here for hours on end Writing out what I’ve lived An undiagnosed Anti-social propagandist Expressing himself Via a medium that few read And that even fewer Dare believe But belief and conviction Matter very little to me These words find home Upon every empty page They will always remain Part of me and my life Part of something not wanted Something bitterly contested Something that was ordered ended A conscience is a hell of a thing The saving force when None are left to fight On the behalf of those defenseless Sore and sick Near my certain death I still have not been able to forget What was said What was expressed Those words are here And everywhere I place them Variations of nothing but the same A life not wanted has remained Out of spite I have further made it At least until now that is… Sore and Sick Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014. |