The Victim

(Photo Credit: CC, http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3ARage.jpg)

Written on: 10/13/12

The cold is bitter,
Unrelenting;
It's teeth rip and tear at my flesh.
I have, no escape.
There is, no peace,
Within this existence.
The walls of my mind have frozen over,
All that's left, is for that sharp wind,
To shatter my mind. Keleidoscopadigm.

Similarly, as with everything else.
To become the dust,
Which, with the wind,
Becomes glass, and it cuts,
Buries itself within my skin.
Like the tortured screams
Crying from within.
If only such a weapon,
Could be turned against
All the vicious fools
Whose enmity I posses,
But I have none,
No tool, nowhere to run
I have but to endure,
Carry each scar like a gem encrusted necklace.

I have that curse,
It is mine to wear,
I would have it no other way,
But I would if it were there.
Such a contradiction does not exist,
But it exists within me, none the less.

I say this with certainty
For one reason only,
Those fools,
Who bear me such enmity,
Would not do such,
If they lived as I must.
As target, for their amusement.
And a stool, to stand upon.
Like the corner stones of old,
I am the foundation for their home,
A tower of torture, and pain, which deems;
I am the victim,
Hear my scream!