Predator

Not everything that kills you is real.

Predator

Her life is filled with fear and pain.

With a past and an attitude, locked up and chained.

But tapping her shoulders wanting to be freed,

To be out.

Like voices of venom inside her head, from whispers to shout.

Everything she touches slowly dies.

Or, leaves without a trace or a single goodbye.

Her emotional scars now buried deep within her wrists.

One item done of the Predators checklist.

He gotten one thing he wanted, what else would he need?

Turns out the the death of her,

Was the only way for him to be pleased.

But she wanted to live, She wanted a life.

But a slow painful death from the Predator,

was not worth a fight.

She gave up all hope, within minutes she was dead.

If only she knew, the Predator, all along,

was inside her head.

This is not some Story of a Crazy Mania.

It's a domestic disorder, called

Schizophrenia

-Jay Kyles

Author's Note

Yes this poem is about a disorder, and yes it may triggers for a stanza or two.