The Narrator

This story is hell to tell I have a hell of a story to tell After I have auctioned off my sisters to the highest bidder and my sinful soul is deemed worthy to sell To the seventh heaven of wonder and bliss I am the story Sometimes I appear frail and uncared for With similes dancing ontop of these discordant prose of violent men and women seeking justice for these many countless, meaningless deaths I am the metaphor that caressed a broken lyric of spirits crying for the many aborted babies that poetry could have mothered So listen attentively I am the ending you would have never expected To a story you never heard from the horse's mouth The opportunity was stolen from you And you never got it back These lies all around you are created so that you may be deceived You see I am one of the many people who kill Rape, and molest little kids And I am still the highest form of crime your leaders could never face in the courts I am the truth they keep hidden And upon being discovered, I am constantly turned into a conspiracy And so it ends With some random guy's head on a metal stake With someone's child being arrested for a crime he didn't commit With someone's grandma getting raped in the bushes Getting left alone to ponder her shame a few minutes before taking her own life With someone being disgusted at someone different to them in colour The story is told, but the bold man refuses to hear it because he clings to a broken past From which his mind shall never bring him back. I am the narrator, and the narrative The End.