Deborah Foster Poet Free verse

Pathetic

The rage that fills my soul 
Attacks me, picks at me.
Much like a child 
Cannot seem to stop pulling on that scab.
In my ears and my tortured mind.
I hear it over and over and once again.
Same as before.
My dear, you are simply pathetic.
PA-THE-TIC.

I shiver I dance around
The emotions that erupt from the floor.
My dear you are pathetic.
PA-THE-TIC.
It is so true.
I never had much
But at least I once had you.
And yet here I am 
Singing in a voice of a child.
PA-THE-TIC.

My voice rises and falls 
Much like always nobody hears me.
I bruise so easily.
I'm oh just so
PA-THE-TIC.
Do YOU hear me??
PA-THE-TIC.
Yes I do hear.
For I'm always listening.
Always aware 
Always 
PA-THE-TIC.

What a horrid wicked group
Of hateful syllables.
PA-THE-TIC.
I care not for them.
I wish I could take my pencil 
Scribble them out.
A bunch of childlike lines
Madly drawn over and over.
PA-THE-TIC.
Yes that's me...
The pathetic one.

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