A poem for The Destroyer
all your poems are grim she said. As if it was new news. Yeah, i know but i I can't write happy things. when they asked me why i just said i didn't know. Even though i'm sure it's because of you. i'm not sure what happy is anymore. Some nights i'd rather be blind than see the look on your face. Perhaps if i knew what it felt like to feel happy i could write about it. and if i knew what it felt like to be loved by you then i could write a poem about that. i simply don't have words the portray your image of happiness. i have epiphanies to paint the bleeding canvas you have given me. you took my line breaks though. you never liked how i placed those. i guess breaking bones is more your style
-did you enjoy it, mother?