Schizophreniac... My Story.. Poem by grim blackhart

A daughter is hated, driven insane.
The schizophreniac became
more withdrawn into her life.
Her mother monitored the strife.

She needed love that was not there.
The schizophreniac despaired.
The hatred penetrated all.
The hatred scaled her mental wall.

But years ahead when mother died,
the schizophreniac inside arose,
and crept one lonely night,
and killed his father from his life.


They say the father rose instead
and falling over, struck his head
upon the table by the bed.
His broken forehead bled and bled.

A heart attack is what they said.
The lie to each they quietly fed.
They knew the truth and where it led.
The motive they had not misread.

The Schizophreniac had pled,
throughout the years, for just a shred
of kindness from the figurehead.

Her stupid mother now was dead.
Because she could not stand the dread
of begging for a piece of bread,
and facing all the hate unsaid
without her mother's kindly stead,
she went where she had never tread,
had rarely thought, and always fled.

Her loneliness and hurt she fed.

And creeping to the dark bedstead,
she instigated the bloodshed,
releasing all the hate inbred.
And as the bleeding spread and spread,
her joy was like a watershed.

And so the story is widespread,
and always constantly resaid.
The father she had rose instead
and falling over, struck his head...