He cried himself to sleep, His bitter tears saturating his dreams. The next day he woke up smiling, Another day gone. He walked out into the kitchen, Seeing his younger brother swearing at his breakfast, And his older brother watching crimson drain from his wrists, Smiling, he poured himself a glass of liquid meloncholy. His older looked up from the pretty red colors danging on his forearm, with an odd look on his face, staring at the thick ebon liquid. He finished the sour, foul smelling liquid, and left the kitchen, the obcenities coming from his brother still ringing in his ears. He walked into the living room to see his mother killing dreams, To see their beautiful crystal wings shatter as she laughed. He sat down, and let a few of his dreams flutter out, into the aim of her gun, and die in a scream of agony. Smiling in thankfulness for less dreams to worry about, He bathed himself in masked pain and hidden terror. Smelling of sweet perfume, and painted in soft velvet to hide himself, He went to school to see how long his bath would last. They saw the velvet, and smelled the roses, And decided to see if they could negate the bath. His friends saw through it, but said nothing, but his enemies kept throwing pieces of him at his armour, trying to break it. After school, he went home on the bus, Picking up his shattered body, gluing it together, As his shoulder was superglued into place, he smiled, Because they may have broken his body, but his armour survived. He still had something. He got home, and was told to clean up the red pool his older brother had left, And let himself be beaten, whose curses were as sweet as honey to dear mother. After bandaging himself from his brother and mother, He went down stairs, to hurt himself too, so as not to be left out. When his wrists were dripping with the blood from his hacked arms, he went upstairs to watch his brothers kill themselves, as they did every night, for it was great fun to watch helpnessly as 2 people he loved murdered each other. It was his favorit time of day. After the entertainment, he drank another glass of liquid meloncholy, let his mother kill a few more dreams, before his dreams were drowned in his bitter sorrows.
Reason for writing:
Bad day. My mom was being a pain, dinner went badly, and life was kinda pushing in. The title, and 3rd person perspective came from 2 very good english teachers of mine.
We're reading Fahreinheit 451, and We were talking anbout the symbolism when Montag's wife drank liquid meloncholy, and I needed a name for the drink.
The third person came from my other English teacher/Pseudo mentor, when she read Armour, another poem, and said I have too mayn first person stories.
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Ray Rupp; Taurus.