PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

let me be clear. i need no compassion in this life. i've seen myself as a villain since i could understand death. exposed at a young age, i dove head first in the pools of mercy. when julius slipped and cracked his skull, his mother's cries rang through me. all of the blood and broken pieces made me question, "did i do this?" i was so young, the only way i could comprehend something so raw was by taking the blame. the angel of death. i stood by as my own mother ran to him and i smirked, and i knew, it was that instant, i was no good. rotten to the core. don't misunderstand. my soul is good. there is something inside that is fighting so wickedly to be released. when julius died, something clicked inside of me. i wasn't afraid of death. it didn't catch me off guard. i never asked the questions to prove i had heart. i processed everything internally and i still do. i told myself that even if this were my doing, julius would have died anyway from heart attack, car crash, cancer... the world is a trap in which living is a death wish. i understood, but never found myself overwhelmed by the blood. it wasn't for weeks after the accident that the images started. i'd see him in my closet each night with fresh blood trickling from his brow. he rarely said anything, but when he did speak, he asked me, "why didn't you save me?". but for the most part, he was silent. he stood and stared and i wanted to walk to him and tell him i was sorry. i knew if i got out of bed he would vanish. i didn't believe he was real, but each night i'd wait for him. the guilt behind my eyes was unearthly. it all comes in flashes. the screaming, the blood on my mother's shoe, the fall. like a nightmare experienced years ago that can't be forgotten. i see his face everywhere, reminding me that death is not reasonable. death doesn't care for age. i've seen the best, crumble into the reaper's arms. it seems only the good attract the tragedy of living. only the good are mourned indefinitely, with fresh roses each november on a grave to remember how much love they left behind. the good are saturated with the tears and the sorrow of everything they touched.maybe it's why i wanted to be bad. to have no one cry over a soulless body. if no one missed me, no one would ever feel the pain of losing me. after julius, i knew there was no silver lining in death.