Monday, March 2, 2009

Coloured Red

Yet another poem. I kinda based it on a guy I used to know.

Coloured Red

Who needs it?
All they do is yell.
What else can they do?
They can’t touch me so they scream.
I wish they could drown out the tornado in my head.

In the end I give up.
Why bother with this place?
So I gave the kid what-for.
Yeah they booted me, but I would’ve left anyway.
Now my only problem is what to do with the afternoon.

I don’t want to go home.
She’s there.
All she does is cry.
She’s supposed to be the adult, the parent.
She’s the only one I’ve got left.
So where the hell is she when I need her?

I hang around with some of my less confined friends until three rolls around.
School lets out, so I go see my mates.
They walk right past me.
What the hell?
They say he was a mate.
They say I shouldn’t have broken his nose.
Shows what they know.

I know its wrong, but I don’t care anymore.
I’m letting that typhoon in my head out.
They better watch for me on the street.
If they eye me, I’ll gut them.

I’m out of it.
I’m driven by my emotions, but it seems they’ve gone off road.
After wandering I end up home.
As soon as I walk in she starts bawling.
I just grab some meat out of the fridge and wolf it.
She doesn’t shut up.
I go to my room and grab a refill of sticks.
On my way out I turn back and pocket my blade.
You never know who you’re going to meet.

I sit on the bench in the sunset and blaze it,
It’s getting dark when I see them.
My friends, at least I thought they were my friends.
They walk past, but I see one of them smirk.
I know it’s at me.
What does he know?
He’s doesn’t know how hard it is.
Having this torrent flowing through you all the time, having to hold it in.

I’m sick of this.
Sick of this world.
Sick of the tornado.
Sick of the anger.
I’m sick of being sick.
It ends tonight.
It’s me or them, and I’m the one with the shiner.

I get up with those traitors in sight, but my legs betray me.
It’s not logical.
I’m bolting, away from them.
As fast as my legs can carry me.
Not even focusing, I run into something in the dark.
A phone booth.
I just thought of a way to get my message across.
I dial the only free number I can think of.
“Get the cops. I’m killing people tonight.”

I walk over to some kids.
They run when I whip it out.
I can feel my emotion building.
I don’t feel myself.
I’m possessed.

Finally some real players come.
One comes pretty close to me.
She’s got nice ones.
It’s her or me.
Now I definitely feel disembodied.
I walk over to her on legs that aren’t my own.

The storm inside roars.
I move.
So does she.
The tsunami lessens, it flows out coolly.
I feel cold.
It’s nice to feel something.
The flood waters ooze out of me.
Who knew they were coloured red.

No comments:

Post a Comment