My heart and a Knife
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Rushing rapidly through the corridoors of life,
Gasping, panting, quenching the thirst of strife.
Demonic yet powerfully existence commanding,
Irises expanding, thoughts implanting, lights dancing.
Black holes of nothing ooze with blood,
The roar of one thousand oceans deafens as they flood.
Each and every orifice gets its share, equal care,
Life inside life can only be described as fair.
Yet as one dares to abuse the loose noose that hangs above,
An offering of love is instead used when push comes to shove.
Like a flying dove the peace that surrounds our veins floats,
Until we bruise, absorb drugs, sleep in blankets of coats.
As he once did, the scene pans down to the dank alleyway,
Left to die when his mother couldn't handle the pain.
Irregular heart beats, dislocated and disoriented,
Just like his throbbing shoulder, that imploring her did.
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Tears had welled up deep into his eye sockets,
Their salt stinging his cut ridden face and eye pockets.
A lump in his throat, he cannot ask for more of her,
She was trying her best, as far as he could infer...
Yet, the pain was worse, her fists just didn't help,
He didn't scream, he didn't shout, he just kept it to himself.
Lying down on the dark, damp black concrete for a time,
Minutes, hours, days? He just sat, absorbed the grime.
He'd hoped that one day he'd reach out from this pit of squallor,
Grip the social ladder firmly, and begin his climb, grow taller.
Yet he's just another soul, praying to a presence that just doesn't reward,
Dedicating his life to moving forward, yet there's nothing to move toward.
His blood dilluted tears write a message of disdain,
Yet he's a soldier, love, life, is something he will ALWAYS feign.
That's how his father would've had him trained, but he's not here to see,
Oh the letters he had sent would account for trees to cover the atlantic sea.
The endless plees, "Daddy, please, I'm sick and need you..."
Sitting in his third hand school uniform waiting for him to come through.
Every morning, perched happily by the termite infested doorway,
His mother could care less about his day, lying throwing bottles his way.
Maybe, just maybe one morning, he'd awake like he usually does,
Yet the fist would be caught before impact, with a flutter of doves.
A knight in shining armour, dressed in pure silver to help him,
The electricity has expired, the lights, like his hope, slowly dim.
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Awakening in a stark white room, he serves as a reminder,
A full stop, if you will, for this age-old insider.
The purest of the pure, yet the most corrupted of the corrupt,
He just wanted a chance, praying that one day things might pick up.
No such luck, living in a police state, where the police state many things,
Yet they don't create anything, they just aggrivate everything.
Crying into the white pillow, the dirt amalgamates with the water,
His eyes seem to cough, starved of nutrition, liquid, slumber.
Peering weerily across the room, the lights blurr his vision,
A wonderful family crying over a boy his age, suffering an incision.
His eyes fall back to himself, a plague to the room,
A parasyte to the world, a pure manifestation of gloom.
A scalpul lies calmly next to him, as if unaware of its potential,
Contemplation falls over the young boy, closing his eyes to the existential.
All the empirical, methodical, metaphorical, teleological,
Knowledge that came standard with his brain, seems illogical.
"My heart is pure, my blood is blood, my life is dead"
The family turned to listen to the croaky repetitions that he said.
"Your so-n... He needs a heart transplant, is that right?"
"Bu..But... How did you... How did you know?" He looked up, bathed in light.
A smile creeping slowly, with all his effort, across his face,
It hurt, but he wanted to comfort them, for it was his last days.
Gripping the scalpul with clarity, he thrust it into his chest,
Cutting a hole of love central to his plain white vest.
The blood seeped out slowly, at first, forming a beautiful image,
Amidst the pain, the anger, the sadness, a heart grew in damage.
The doctors rushing in, the family, eerily quiet, taken back,
The young boy whispered across the room, smiling "Good luck."
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Dropping the knife, and offering his heart in a moment of understanding,
Falling into the black, the white light covered him for a soft landing.
The love he required filled those empty veins, it lit his flame,
Threw the encrusted blood and dirt into the darkness as his body fell tame.
A moment of clinical calm, he smiled, and the white engulfed him,
The vacuum of his soul lifted, and the skies fell dim.
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The ultimate sacrifice, yet his love, his spirit live on,
Having ended his suffering, he prevented anothers, as he passed on.
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His heart beats once more as mine, looking up at my mother and father,
Smiling weakly at them, tears of joy flooding down their face and farther.
An empty bed to my side, with a knife in the middle, I looked in wonder,
Looking back to my parents, "Who was my heart doner?"
A warmth spreading from my insides lifted my spirits, and I began to pray,
Speaking to him, him speaking back, I said... "Dear God, I just want to say.."
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End.
Uh... Yeah... Bitches
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