I'm a piñata
Waiting to be broken
Only on my death bed
Am I truly awoken
My paper mache has all the colours of schadenfreude
I'm glued with the song of children's squeals
Hanging by a string, defenceless and nude
Don't feel sorry, I can't feel.
Just take that bat
Into your hands
Break me, then
You will begin to understand.
Sweet blood
It will flow into, through your veins
I'll be pumped around you
And you can feel my pain
And I will feel yours
All your bruises, all your trips
Don't cry for me
I'm made to be ripped
Just wonder
How I know
Whether to flinch
Or smile at every blow
And then I'll just feel the sweet blood flow.
Take that bat
Into your hands
Break me, and
Remove my cattle brand.
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A/N: The song above is by one of my favourite music artists (Five For Fighting).
It never fails to lift my spirits.
The music video is pretty awesome as a bonus.
I was listening to it when I wrote this, so it probably had some sort of influence.
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Anarchy
PoetryAnarchy. A swirl of topics: emotions, allusions to history, social issues... And somewhere in the maelstrom comes forth rhymes and prose. Note: If you can't be bothered to read all the poems (quite understandably), I've starred the better ones.
