Warped Thoughts
A little girl, snug in bed
Nasty thoughts in an old man's head
Angels turn their heads in shame
God ignores his morbid game
His hands, like ice find their place
A smile from hell forms on his face
His eyes go shut, his fingers play
The little girl's mind fades away
Dying flowers fall from stems
Rotten branches twist and bend
Bloody clouds float through skys
Painful tears fall from eyes
The man's desires satisfied,
He tells the child to dry her eyes.
She did real good, her job is done
Go to sleep, little one
Have you ever seen the devil?
Have you ever been to hell?
Did you ever feel the Serpant's touch
as he asks you not to tell?
Have you looked into his eyes
and seen his evil smile?
Did you ever play his evil games
with him laughing all the while?
Did you ever dream of horrors
and the shame they make you feel?
Only to be awakened
and find that they are real?
Have you ever felt like dying
but the devil makes you live?
So he can take from you
everything you have to give?
And when the games are over
and the devil's had his fill.
He sends you on your way
to find another soul to kill.
If there is a God, you will be judged.
You will pay as I have paid.
My pain will be transfered to you.
You will smell the smells I smell and hear the sounds I hear and taste the fear I taste.
Your soul will die, as mine has.
Your mind will feel my pain and it will eat at you like acid on raw flesh.
Your hell will begin as your life ends and my hell will end when yours begins.
Spiders will crawl through your brain and rats will chew between your legs
and your screams will go unanswered, just as mine did.
There will be no fathers to comfort you or mothers to wipe tears.
There will be no fairy tails and no lullabys.
If there is a God, you will be judged.
Lying among the roses, red as her wrists she smells death mixed with sweet, fragrant blooms, floating in blood. Her mind wanders to days long ago, of paper dolls and ice cream and screaming and puppy dogs and lolli pops and monsters lingering in closets and unwanted touches and teddy bears and rivers of tears mixed with blood and shame. The breeze blows through her hair and into her open hands, grabbing at her heart with peaceful darkness, pulling her down to horrifying realms of pleasure and she dies.
© Copyright 1999 Trish Koons
The past is the past but won't go away
Her friends are not friends, they have nothing to say
Her heart is heavy and her blood runs cold
Her pain is real and her mind is old
Searching for something to keep her alive
Searching for a reason not to die
More Thoughts for the Insane
Email me at trishk@ptd.net.
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