LITTLE DRUM:
I see her. I see him.
Shes covering it with makeup, hes covering it with dirt.
Lip stick smears.
Face full with dirt.
There hiding, just beneath the covers.
Afraid to fall asleep, because there dreams are all to real.
Memories.
Can you hear the screams?
Hear the beating of the drums.
Plastic wrapping.
Breaking. Because anger takes control.
Ripping.
Cutting. Because, bleeding makes them feel alive.
She's bleeding.
He's bleeding.
Outside. Inside.
They are crying.
And others don't know why.
And they cannot stop.
And theu don't know why they can't stop.
The beating to the little drum.
All for there pleasure, from there sickening pain.
Outside. Inside. There bleeding.
Brused and beaten.
Inside. Outside. There crying.
Hear the beating to the drums.
Hear the sobs.
Hear the pound.
Hear the beating of the drum.
Sooner or later, there gonna break.
Those little drums are gonna break.
There gonna rip, bleed, and break.
Until there is no more little drum.
There will be no more screaming.
No more pain, for them, and no more pleasure from you.
No more sound to that little drum.
You are going to regret breaking that little drum.
When that little drum is broken.
That little drum will no longer make a sound.
When that drum is broken.
That little drum will never be the same.
Never to be fixed.
No longer the same.
That little child.
That little boy.
That little girl.
Will no longer be the same.
YOU ARE READING
TRUST ME
PoetryA collection of short/long poems I have written through out the years. Some sad/depressing and some happy.
