The Crumbling Genealogy Tree




Such a  frail fragile thing

It is a living ecosystem of aunts and uncles

Mothers and Sons, daughters and their fathers.

What becomes of this intricate unit when it is disturbed?

Mayhem, cutting, and foul play.

Psychological manipulation from others.

Self-harm to oneself.

Drugs and prostituion become as common

like a common man to a common whore.

Alone, oh!

The feeling of isolation penetrates

throughout the horror of this intorable habitat of humanity.

Black holes filled with darkness and absent of all light

Do not, can not suck this family up like a sink hole would

The black holes' central purpose remains in the heart of the suffering.

Quite similar to the black holes eating up the lungs of a

cancer patient living half dead in a hospice center.

In this case; the lung like the heart, is virtually useless.

Try as you might you will never get back that piece that died

Resuscitate all you want you will not prevail in un-deading the lifeless slain.

I sit here confessing all my sins to thee.

Here, in this crummy, smelly awefully dilapidated room.

Her walls plummeted with a  inadequate tool.

She bleeds from the inside out. Her pink honey walls now red with vengance.

Beaten but not yet broken she,  who lies in the bed like a wilted flower barricades

all who tresspass her fortress of shame.

She, he, they forge the signature of their aspirations and fantasies.

They bid farewell to their would-be selves.

The imminent future is outside of their realms of reality.

They can not see pass their own hardship.

Down goes crumbling the lineage tree.




Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741