Beautiful Beings

Broken Bones

Broken bones make good sport
My enemies gather around them and ground them down
I feel the pain as I gnash my teeth
Quite the game I always make it a sport
My tears are source of entertainment
For the bored and broken
But why must it always be me?
Can the world be against a single person I wonder.

Now I watch in silence as they relish in my tears
They hit home
They yearned to make me cry
I stood strong and still for days they came with fire and lightning
Anything to make me move
How happy I hear them as they surround me with joy
They lived for this moment
To see me defeated in low spirits
Returning to a dark hole silently waiting for nothing
They call it a prison of my own making
Yet when I leave they gather sticks and stones to knock me down
My bones ground to dust
And I to nothing
Everyday a living hell
Hoping it will end

At times goes for a while
I forget the pain and torment
My soul delights in life as I live yet again
Then my enemies gather around me again
They were waiting
Biding their time when I thought we were making friends
Like good spies they were seeking out weaknesses and soft spots
I showed them all as I was desperate to belong
But I was never among the flock
Nor was I born to be part of the herd
My mistakes my miscalculations
So I lay in the midst of them all and watch then grind bones as I live and breathe