This is just a poem of an idea for a story I'm planning to make.
|Wednesday, June 06, 2007 Michael Prates
"Morning of Demise"
A ray of light hits my eyes,
and begins my morning of demise.
I sit up in my messy bed,
without a thought in my head.
Staring blankly at the floor,
I see something which I abhor.
I grind my teeth at its sight,
and tip my night table out of spite.
Sliding from a tangled sheet,
I rise up onto my feet.
Deprived of my daily doze,
I throw on some dirty clothes.
Scrabbling down a flight of stairs,
I am hit by the sun's flares.
Blinded by the intense light,
Keeping vision was now a fight.
Continuing into a small disarrayed canteen,
messy countertops reveal where father had been.
This kitchen was rather crude,
for it contained more dirt than food.
Searching the cupboard for a plate,
I once again spot what I hate.
I hurled the plate across the room,
to see it smash beside the broom.
I quickly swept up the broken glass,
so that father would be able to pass.
When I moved my hand from the shade,
I noticed a cut which the glass had made.
What was once a spec of blood,
has turned into a crimson flood.
When I rinsed the blood shed,
the water instantly turned red.
I lifted my head just a crack,
to see my hideous reflection staring back.
I grit my teeth and clenched my fists,
it's repulsive face hidden by cysts.
I struck the mirror with all my might,
as if I was forced to fight.
The mirror shattered as a fine red mist,
sprayed out from my constricting fist.
The white wall was now tainted red,
I guess the anger got to my head.
Overwhelmed with rage I began to shout,
turning the bathroom inside out.
I took the stairs up into my room,
hoping this would be over soon.
I crawled under my covers and shut my eyes,
preparing for another morning of demise.