Mom, Got a Band-Aid?

He sits in his room

Alesana pouring out Bose speakers

The shutters closed, the music loud

His room is dark, dank

like a pedophile's basement

A razor lays in his hand

it looks like a rose

about to be given away

Its edge,

even sharper than the despair

The walls are almost bare

but for a few posters,

and a drawing given to him

Other than that,


The sharp edge slices through the skin

releasing fountains of crimson sorrow

Denny Diablo's screaming crescendoes

Again and again, the blade slices

Feelings, along with blood flow out

As you build your dreams

On my shattered hopes

I'll look back on

A day once loved

and fantasize for tragedy

His slices in rhythm with the noise

He was in a frenzy, unstoppable

The blade taking him into a brief amnesia

Forgetting all those that cared

and those that didn't

Congratulations, I Hate You stopped,

but he did not

A second seemed like an eternity

spent in silence

spent in sorrow

The creeek of an opening door

caught him off guard

He looked up and found

what he least expected

and dreaded the most

His mother, dressed in white

and appalled at the sight

at which her eyes and fallen upon

Her thoughts were not as expected

Oh fuck, does blood stain on tile?

She was not his real mother

Only a cheap knockoff

that his father settled for

The one that cared for him

and not his father's bank account

One hand clenched into a fist

One hand clutching a razor

Both shredded and bloody

Legs oozing blood

Like a maple tree oozes sap

Six words from his mouth

broke the silence


he said the way you would say dogshit

got a bandaid?