Abandoned by those who as gods we perceive,
We consider ourselves thus unworthy,
In the longest-forgotten depths of our childhoods,
We were told that “love isn’t for me”.
And we cling now again with such mad desperation,
To any who’d come by and listen,
To the pain of the lost, to our horrid damnation,
To the cries of the unheard children.
Yet the tragic truth that’s forever unheeded,
Is that those who cut open our heart,
Plucked out also the eyes we so dearly needed,
And the signs that could tell them apart.
Thus the jackals who plunge claws into our throats,
We raise up, with a careless haste,
On a pedestal fit for our parents we place,
Those who leave of our world naught but waste.
So although we have grown on the outside,
We yet children remain inside,
And we blinded, wander through minefields,
Our senses corrupted, denied.