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Delvon Graffius Poem
All those days spent in pain.
Memories washed away by the rain.
To have misplaced a forgotten loved one.
Falling into the depths of illness.
Now, I realize what it is like to succumb.
Where did those days of greatness go?
What have I become?
A monster with great power?
Maybe, I have succumb to illness.
My heart begins to beat.
Fast
Faster
Even Faster
As I hear the sirens buzzing in my ears.
In my mind...
I feel empty and dark.
In my mind...
I'm dying inside.
In my mind...
Voices are screaming words of terror.
I have lost.
The battle of life and death has been done.
It's what I hate most.
I have lost.
As I tell myself that it'll all be over soon...
I hear my mother saying "Sweetie wake up."
Stunned to death I awake.
Frantically, searching through my mind.
I find that I will never succumb to illness.
Copyright © Delvon Graffius | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Delvon Graffius Poem
My father whispered the word in my ear...
Die!
All of a sudden life turned into great fear.
Die!
Such an awful sounding word.
Die!
Makes me think we live in an awful world.
Will power...
Crumbles just like a flower.
Left in pain and agony for all to see.
That someone could lack so much care.
It's hard to even take a breath of air.
Will power...
My father whispered the word in my ear...
Die!
All of a sudden life turned into great fear.
Die!
Such an awful sounding word.
Die!
Makes me think we live in an awful world.
Plaguing my mind with intruding thoughts of death.
Maybe this will be my last breath.
Insanity is the only thing left.
With decades of torture and silence.
The only thing left to do is die!
Copyright © Delvon Graffius | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Delvon Graffius Poem
I'll show them what they did to me...
I'll ruin their lives next.
I'll make them SUFFER.
See how they feel.
To be muted.
In this disgusting atmosphere.
The place that we call "school."
How awful of a life without freedom.
What is Freedom!?
Does it exist...?
Trapped here in this sickening place.
Everyone likes to call "School."
An atmosphere of over-whelming doom.
Why must I be used as a tool?
I hate them.
Feasting for blood.
I want their blood.
That will color my hair.
Blood.
Blood.
It will do the trick.
To feed my agony...
To escape my mind.
My question will be answered.
What is Freedom!?
Copyright © Delvon Graffius | Year Posted 2011
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