The Sting No Longer Comes


United States
29° 31' 58.9764" N, 98° 46' 52.194" W

The sting no longer comes.
With every crack of the whip, I just wait.
I simply wait to lose consciousness,
Wait for the blood to spill,
I hope this time it spills enough,
Maybe if I'm lucky,
I'll never wake back up.

The sting no longer comes.
When tied to the bed posts, I let him have his way.
No point to fight or struggle,
My body is used to it, anyways,
No longer do I feel, no longer is there pain,
Yet that only frightens me,
I crave pain more than anything.
I crave that which will lead me to be deceased,
Where maybe then, I can finally rest in peace.

The sting no longer comes.
The sun wants to help, its burns me on the fields,
I believe it knows my sorrows, I believe it knows it all.
Perhaps it sees my mother, wherever she may be,
It doesn't matter, either way,
she's forever dead to me.

The sting no longer comes.
I despise my younger brother, for dying during birth.
How he escaped so easily, without a single scratch,
Harsh I may be,
But I mean what I say,
Suppose I'm just so jealous,
Of how easily he got away.

The sting no longer comes.
Always alone, beaten if I'm not.
Beaten if I am,
Make me bleed,
If there really is a God, I pray he hears my plee.
Oh please, don't let this child live, who's now inside of me.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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