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Make me Beg
Contributed by
HIV
on
Thursday, 12th April 2012 @ 12:38:39 PM in AEST
Topic:
EmotionalPoetry
|
I can hear
my echoes screaming back,at me
it's like a horror movie
it's always chasing me
I can't escape
they throw me in a cage
teasing me,make me beg
(go away)
I Can't Get Away!
My Heads Screwing With Me!
NO!
Not Again!
Make Me beg!
make me beg!...
I can feel
my hearts ripped out,again
my last and only spare
thrown into the air
I can't breath
they lock me up so tightly
beat me,make me beg
(go away)
I Can't Get Away!
My Heads Screwing With Me!
NO!
Not Again!
Make me beg!
make me beg...
I don't want it!
All these feelings are eating all of ME!!!
Is there something Wrong With ME!!!.....
make me beg(go away)
make me beg(go away)
make me.....BEG!!!!!!
Copyright ©
HIV
... [
2012-04-12 12:38:39]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Make me Beg
(User Rating: 1 )
by thehotshotpoet on
Thursday, 12th April 2012 @ 02:54:34 PM AEST
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a Message)
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my friend there is nothing wrong with you it seems to me that you have alot of issues that you keep balled up inside you & that's never good.read the poem I just submitted a few minutes ago & please keep this in mind,there is always some to talk to that will listen to you even me,hell it seems that's what I do best anyway,good write thanks for sharing
the hot shot poet |
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Re: Make me Beg
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Thursday, 12th April 2012 @ 09:06:03 PM AEST
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a Message)
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my older brother actually put my head between the wall and our bed bunk, He tried to make me beg him to stop his fists from stomping on my face, which I would not. I think my pulverized face eventually wore him out. And I don't remember why we had the fight in the first place. Another brother who he would never fight, and who was older still finally came through the door and seeing the whole escapade stopped the entire affair.
I don't remember exactly how old I was, probably eleven or twelve, my sibling beating mercilessly upon my face one year older, his knuckles bleeding still, seeing my face and horrified in the aftermath. It was also then when my oldest brother was still in Vietnam. And I remember afterward, after my face had healed, thinking of my brother coming back home all wrapped in bandages, except his face had changed. /And the kid who beat on me I would never stop loving, nor would he ever stop loving me. And I still feel fear of physical violence, most especially from those who feel the need to make me beg.
Peace!
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