Tattered

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Bunks arranged in systematic rows,
So even, yet so rough.
Coarse splinters from the mahogany wooden floor,
All of it is recurring in my soul.
The apple-shelves near the beds
Making use of themselves.
At least someone is.

As I lay on this “bed of roses” in my own gloom,
The thorns drip toxic blood from my “lacerated” backside.
The irony occurs when I conceive this house is not a home.
Sleepless nights in darkness dwelt,
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
This cold, unloving mattress is stiff on my back,
And I still whimper as I listen to the shadows surrounding me.
The time of hurt, the stinging tears,
This abode demonstrates no mercy... and oddly, I plead for none.





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HeronHero said...
May 15, 2010 at 9:43 pm
This is really awesome in a heart breaking way, you used great imagery!:)
 
Sultana replied...
May 15, 2010 at 9:59 pm

Hah, the scene where Lennie and George have to stay in that horrible house really was heart breaking...

And thank you veryyyyy much again! <3

 
HeronHero replied...
May 15, 2010 at 10:06 pm
I've never read the book, but if it's any good I'll have to this summer!:)
 
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