Below Zero

The day was below zero,

The night were to follow,

For there were to be no hero,

For the forsaken and the hollow.

The tears of a child would not matter,

Abused as the toy of a heinous fiend,

Head into fire, ignorance to a mind in shatter,

Innocence long lost, a child demeaned.

The day was below zero,

The night were to follow,

For there was never a hero,

For the forsaken and the hollow.

Lights had dimmed, the audience gone,

It looked into the mirror, a reflection of disgust,

A touch as cold as death, a yearning to belong,

It was a ragdoll for an adult's pleasure and lust.

The day was below zero,

The night were to follow,

For there's no such thing as a hero,

For the forsaken and the hollow.

Age did not mend the secrets and dirty taboo,

Constraints wrapped around embody,

Hurt and betrayed, in the hospital walls to lose,

Washing pills down the gullet, opened fist, feeling shoddy.

The days were below zero,

The nights were to follow,

For time did not find a hero,

For the forsaken and the hollow.

It foamed from the mouth, disease-riddled and dazed,

To fall over the desk, head onto the floor,

Tinnitus were to confuse as consciousness drifted into a haze,

The medics pronounced it dead at the scence, it did not want to be a whore.

The day stood below zero,

The night were to follow,

Medication is not a hero,

For this one statistical wallow.

For you will gaze upon these all too common stories,

You may think these are exaggerations of society,

You will be shown the true nature of tabboo,

This is below zero, the true mispulished foundings of our daily invisibility to the factors of the unseen.