bad memories
Who am I?
No one knows and no one cares,
and what does it matter anyway?
I am, and that's the point,
one point in the statistics,
one more going down,
burnt out and exhausted,
manhandled and scrapped,
not officially but the more,
wounded unto unrecognisability
with the soul made unidentifiable
hanging hollow in rags.
Just forget all about me,
for I never existed,
society scrapped me
officially,
I am alive, and that's bad enough,
since I would most of all be forgotten
not only by the official injustice
but most of all by myself.
Poetry by Laila Roth
Read 566 times
Written on 2008-01-10 at 10:21
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A question of identity
Who am I?
No one knows and no one cares,
and what does it matter anyway?
I am, and that's the point,
one point in the statistics,
one more going down,
burnt out and exhausted,
manhandled and scrapped,
not officially but the more,
wounded unto unrecognisability
with the soul made unidentifiable
hanging hollow in rags.
Just forget all about me,
for I never existed,
society scrapped me
officially,
I am alive, and that's bad enough,
since I would most of all be forgotten
not only by the official injustice
but most of all by myself.
Poetry by Laila Roth
Read 566 times
Written on 2008-01-10 at 10:21
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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