The memoirs of pain. Foward

I question the fact that i wish to indulge myself with writing this piece, Is it to keep sanity or wit? Is it to remind myself of the horrors that i once faced or merely to let go of them? All of these questions, I hope, will be answered as i write this piece, As i spread my life day to day out on paper.  
I am begining to wonder now, how might the public react once they get hold of this, will they lie to themselves to make there own minds better or will they face reality despite the fact that its sutch a painfull prosses to do? 
I suppose all these questions are coming off crazy, well if they are, it is my duty to tell u that after what ive been through, i feel it would be normal for u to call me crazy, i am crazy, not physicly crazy, but mentally crazy,
Im crazy in that i think that this will end.
It wont, life is an endless string of oppertunities for most, ive passed all the oppertunities thats come to me, and although im waiting for more, my oppertunities are in no way endless.
I feel that i should also tell u to stop reading if u are pupuler, if u have a life, and if u arnt crazy.
U wouldnt understand.

now i suppose i should go on to day one, there is nothing to more to tell u, and if u choose not to take caution in my warning, then u about to face reality, and what u are to us. 


On his face, T…

On his face,
The same shrewd expression that had been there for so long,
My message to him,
It was so clear,
And yet he rejected it,
As if it was nothing,
As if I was nothing.

If I could taunt you,

 I would trample upon your body,

I would watch you as your tears shriveled upon nothing

And whisper,

Those same words,

You so cruelly told to me

 And yet you’re gone,

 And on your face
Is the same shrewd expression you had

 As you rejected me,

And my yearning for you. 

His tears met a…

His tears met an end, 
What was left moistened his now cold face, 
admitting that his gone prayer had been thrashed opun
Trampled upon, 
taunted everlastingly
as it was pushed into reallity. 
pain cant ceaze, 
tears shriviled, 
Burnt , 
An morbid reopening to itself, 
it left without a soul 
without an wish for more, 
It believed that reallity had corrupted it, 
yet it knew, 
As it lay still, 
That it was already to late.