Prodigal, Part 1: Rebel

He sits alone.
Abandoned by all,
Hated by all.
Inside,
He screams.
Tears, hot fire,
Trace shimmering lines down his cheeks.
The echo of violent screaming plays in his head.
-Hate-
His parents could never understand him.
It's only another tattoo:
Katie asked him to.

The anger of his father's yelling
Drowns out the fear of rejection,
Drawing all focus to itself.
He is fully angry,
Only angry.
The pain on his arm from the needle
Is forgotten, in his hot anger.
His parent's voices echo in his head:
'You're only sixteen!
What were you thinking? '

Now, he is only thinking
Of the cash he has,
Hidden in his closet.
Rummaging around,
He finds the pile of money
-New life-
Hidden there also,
A small bag of a fine powder
-Life's excitement-
A handgun, his father's, stolen.
-Life's protection-
Demonic voices,
Sounding painfully sweet,
-Deception-
Order his life:
His new life,
Far away.
He is running,
Chased by his anger,
His hatred,
His lust.

by James Grengs

Comments (1)

I feel the struggle you express here. I am the prodigal.