This Worthless Beast
This worthless beast still has a beating heart.
Though ebbing ever slower broken torn bleeding wide open.
I cover myself in physical scars that match the pain I feel inside.
If I hurt myself then it makes sense,
even though to all of you this worthless beast will be blatantly erroneous.
This worthless beast is deep inside truly hurting and quite meek.
I hurt though and have no clear mind.
I must cut myself to feel the rush of sweet painful release,
that only one such as myself can understand in fullness grief.
This worthless best still has a beating heart.
It's a wounded heart surrounded by many locked box.
It still feels love you cannot know.
It bleeds inside and to bursting with grief and self hatred now a wretched hell.
This worthless beast is no good.
So what though as usual he only screwed the pooch and failed.
So this worthless beast must fall upon his dying sword.
Cleanse the world of a blackened hole.
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Comments about this poem (This Worthless Beast by Michael McParland )
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