September 19, 2012
Beaten into submission, he gave his volition.
The tiny dancer ceased his struggle and made peace with his station.
How they cheered and clapped at the strong boy he conjured
Not a tear in his eye
Not a grimace on his face
Not an emotion in sight
Not...

Beaten into submission, he gave his volition.

The tiny dancer ceased his struggle and made peace with his station.

How they cheered and clapped at the strong boy he conjured

Not a tear in his eye

Not a grimace on his face

Not an emotion in sight

Not so much as a whimper emanating from his lips

He stood motionless, stoic, and tall

He took pride in becoming a man for them all

Oh, but how he betrayed them in his isolation

There he cried and begged and pleaded

As his dreams and hopes slowly receeded

There he mourned the death of his true self

There he wept for the suffocating boy and the hand he was dealt

The little boy died slowly with each passing night

He gave it his all, He fought with all of his might

His tears snuffed out as the inner flame he once embraced

As he coaxed himself to be tough, valiant, and brave

All the while becoming repressed, depressed, and enraged

Alcoholic, drug addicted, battered, and depraved

Oh, and did I mention his rage?

Inflamed in his anger

As patterns emerged

As his ego surged

As the little boy remained submerged