Failed Experiment

Failed Experiment

A Poem by Akroma

I sweated and toiled but my plans were all foiled,
When my parents came home early.
They screamed and screamed while I quickly schemed
Of a way to escape their fury and the facing of a jury.

They arrived from a trip on a cruise ship a week much too soon,
and two weeks much too late for this one sad buffoon. 
I had committed all my time home alone to converting this fool's lard
And forgot all about a future date with a prison guard.

Yes, the presence of dried blood proved impossible to explain,
When my parents spotted the splattered sink in disdain.
I’ll admit, I stumbled and fumbled over my own name,
And of course I lied when I said I felt shame. 

Neither was sold, 
Not with the body on the kitchen floor so old and so cold.
And not with the key parts on the table dissected and neglected,
My experiment far from completed or perfected.

Now, I'm sure they faced the terrible thought
Of whether or not they should let another body rot.
Their own child surely to be subjected to the chair,
strapped down and injected while they stand and stare.

Their creation a bit unseemly it would seem,
The whole thing out of a bizarre, impossible dream.
In such a shaken state they could shoulder the stress,
And together we could clean the kitchen and my ruined dress.

So once the shock had left the air and we had scrubbed the evidence bare,
I hugged my mother and father dear and wiped away their trails of tears.
With absolute love and care, I completed the task ahead,
And swung my axe until my parents went from dying to dead.

To those who may say I must have had hate in my heart 
For the two who raised a daughter who would tear them apart.
You should know we all used to hold hands like tight rubber bands,
But you know what they say when you tightly hold sand.

Through fingers of want and need our souls all leaked out,
And all three of us canceled out the other's shouts.
Another failed experiment, another reason to lament.
Another attempt would be the only right way to repent. 

© 2011 Akroma

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But you know what they say when you tightly hold sand.
Through fingers of want and need our souls all leaked out,

Very clever analogies! Reading this was like a bad dream! Well penned my dear.

Posted 11 Years Ago

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Added on February 2, 2011
Last Updated on February 22, 2011



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