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Trent
Contributed by
Butterat_Zool
on
Monday, 15th July 2002 @ 09:11:59 PM in AEST
Topic:
Suicide
|
All dressed in black with one lip pierced,
Young Trent Babbette looked awfully fierce.
With skin as white as fresh new snow,
He’d showed the world they didn’t know
The pain inside of his sweet heart
That built up there before depart.
For fifteen years, the pressure built.
Flowers can’t bloom after they wilt.
For fifteen years of rosy cheeks,
His parents paid eleven weeks.
On April thirty-first, he lay
And wasn’t getting up that day.
His father forced him out of bed,
And for the crime, his son was dead.
On April thirty-eighth, he met
The future Gloria Babbette.
She left him on their wedding day,
And for the crime, that girl did pay.
On April forty-fifth, he went
Out to become a brand new Trent.
From jeans and tees to blacks and slacks,
From hurried life to one more lax,
A brand new Trent Babbette was born,
And when he saw his parent’s scorn,
He cursed their morals and their life,
And moved in with his future wife.
On April fifty-two, he bought
A small white terrier named Scott.
It served it’s purpose, went against
His father’s omnipresent fist.
Scott was a comfort blanket now,
And that made Trent happy somehow.
On April fifty-ninth, he saw
An old man kiss his Gloria.
But he denied it and moved on,
And sat outside that night ‘till dawn.
On April sixty-sixth, he slept
All day and night, and inside, wept,
Remembering the last week’s sight,
He (with Scott) endured the blight.
On April se7en-three, he went
To ask Glori’s commitment,
Her hand in marriage, so he thought,
would build in her the trust he sought.
On April eightieth, he took
His dog outside, just for a look,
And for a chance to sniff around,
When a corvette flattened his hound.
He ran to where his dog had died,
And sat, and stared, and cursed, and cried.
Without his dog, poor Trent would die,
There was no way he could survive.
On April Eight-Se7en, he got
back in his old habits with pot.
He smoked a whole big bag my friend,
Then bought some more, and smoked again.
On April ninety-fourth, he tied
The knot, then cheated on his bride.
At the reception, he was caught
With Glori’s sister, getting hot.
His new wife left him then and there
Despite her wrongs, she didn’t care.
He ran straight home to his dog Scott,
And remembered what he had forgot,
And his whole world came crashing down.
He spent that night walking around.
By April the one-hundred-first,
He knew that life couldn’t get worse.
He’d moved back in with Mom and Dad,
And everyone was very mad.
His life style went down a bit,
No cash, no job, a drug habit,
And with all that, his mom and dad,
Yelling every chance they had
For every little thing he’d done.
They told him he was a bad son.
Fueled by anger and his strife,
He chose to end his sorry life.
April one-hundred and eight
Would be Trent Babbette’s final date.
He killed his dad and killed his mom,
Then looked at where his life had gone.
He knew that he could not repent,
Went to his room, and got some hemp.
He’d lost the world that he abhorred
So with that hemp, he made a cord
and tied it in a hangman’s noose.
For him there was no getting loose.
He wanted to, had to succeed.
He could not fail this final deed.
He threw his knot over a tree,
And killed himself, and you, and me,
And as he hanged, his final thought
Was of his terrier named Scott.
The police found him hanging there.
And right away, they cut his snare.
“Awww… that’s a shame,” was all they said,
No one he knew knew Trent was dead.
A wooden cross set for the knave
Is all that marks his shallow grave.
Copyright ©
Butterat_Zool
... [
2002-07-15 21:11:59]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Trent
(User Rating: 1 )
by Jackee_line on
Wednesday, 6th November 2002 @ 11:02:29 PM AEST
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Info | Send
a Message)
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sad poem, of confuse lonely young kids.
fantastic poem, great work.
jackee_line |
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Re: Trent
(User Rating: 1 )
by EternitysLyre on
Monday, 17th November 2003 @ 04:47:42 AM AEST
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a Message)
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Well, the poem leaves the reader senseless. Breathless. Awe-stricken if you will. It encompasses many meanings, but doesn't exactly appeal to the burlusque of suicide.
Beatiful. I agree that it may very well be one of your best. |
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Re: Trent
(User Rating: 1 )
by wray on
Tuesday, 11th January 2005 @ 09:21:05 AM AEST
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a Message)
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| Argh I'm confused! I was hoping this would be a nice, easy-to-understand anti-glamorisation-of-suicide poem but I'm guessing it's deeper than that. Please explain the dates thing? Otherwise it was interesting to read. I like your loosely-rhymed words, makes me feel a lot better about doing it myself :) |
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