Nihlistic Self Reflection
By Colin
My mother was a whore Selling her body for cocaine I hate her she makes me sick I love her and think of her often My father was a drunk Forgot we were alive and it is better that way I can't stand his idle conversations or his pats on the back or his "good boy"s He disgusts me I love him and blame him far too much I hate myself going nowhere no education Too angry far too cruel But I have a hart and the worlds pain hurts me Tears on a childs face seem like blasphemy to the holy state of youth My words never seem good enough I can't help but think I could be a better man Written February 4th, 2002 © on Mar 17 2002 08:01 PM PST 18 • 0 • 10
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"My mother was a whore..."