William Sinclair Manson

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My-Poetry / Writings · 1 May 2017

My Poetry. The Punch Bag.

You broke me when I was a little boy
used me, abused me, like an old toy
I looked into the air wondering why me
no one would notice, no one could see.
Going to school with blackened eyes
always looking like I won second prize
friends would look, no one wanted to know
classed as a boys life, trying to grow.
Deep inside my soul, crying for help
cowering in fear, from the next skelp
when things go wrong, punch my face
make me see stars, travel to space.
One day I hope death comes my way
not from the pain, but from this day
take me from here, end my torment
heaven looks nice, but hell is bent.
To all you children, deadly scared
life of turmoil, warmth is spared
look to an adult, get them to hear
live your life happily, not in fear.


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