To whom it may concern I'm hurting,
all I done heard is blood-curdling curses,
Mom and pops are berserking again while I'm
burning up in the furnace and searching
for the explanation for what I did to deserve
to get deserted and then repeatedly beaten in the face
with my worthlessness,
No sense of purpose. It got drowned, and
I doubt if you were to open my mind and
step inside it right now you could even feel
what I'm talking about, 'cause
for the pain in my veins my words couldn't explain
and the hate is mounting.
And I can't contain it I'm bound to break out
and the days I'm counting.
And I'm sick of the shouting man I'm about to just…
© 2002, Michael D. Medcalf
