Young Writers Society

I don’t want to be frank
It’s not like me be blunt
Not like me take stabbing attempts
At wounded, young innocents
But I’m tired
And I’ve wasted grains of sand
Listening to you
You’ve whipped me with your problems
I’m burning black and blue
Red and raw and the essence
Of something more than truth

You may be marrow
Screeching in my bone
You may be bloodstream
Oxygen and muscle tone
But you are unhealthy –
You breed virus, disease and leprosy
And, frankly, I’d be better off alone

Get out of my dreams
I enjoy my fantasies
When their lacking you,
The chains,
The youth that holds me down
I’m resting and so you roll my over
Haunting me
Please set me free

So frankly, please get off my land
I’d rather be alone,
Then holding hands