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Disclaimer: i don't own James . . don't really need to . . but doesn't mean i don't wanna. he belongs to . . ugh . . other people. hehehe ..
Originally written by: eddy - me
Rating: uh . . it's pretty morbid so i'd give it at least a PG-13 to R or something. but no cursing so i guess it's PG-13
what it's about: VERY IMPORTANT!! this poem is a take from one of my other stories about James getting kidnapped by jesse belle to bring him back to meet his new little sister (cause his parents wanted to start over) who holds a special gift that only he, carla, and jesse share. but this is sort of a lost scene that i didn't put in the story about James looking back to a time when he tried to commit suicide in his bedroom. lol . . i know .. kinda sad .. but he DOES live obviously! well, in this scene he's sitting on a rock (that was in the story) and he's looking back on the time he tried that . .thing (which i didn't put in the story). all right . . uh .. i think i got it all covered. oh! but no! NO! JAMES DID NOT GET RAPED!!! so don't think that . . i don't want people thinking that just cause the title is "Ruined Walls and Dirty Bed Sheets". i just called it that cause that's where he did it and it's not in the poem but he did fall on the floor after he did it, so .. just letting you know for all you pervs out there who would think that j's dad or mom or whoever raped him .. lol ..i wouldn't let it come to that! ::says to self:: lol .. yeah eddy .. but suicide is an option. anyway! hope you enjoy!

Ruined Walls and Dirty Bed Sheets

How can it be that something so far away
Could feel so close at the same time?
Something so plagued with nightmares
Could find it's way here and torment me with dreams
Of the place in which I once called home
Because I had nothing else to call so?
And how can it be that the church (who would
Always open their arms to those who would return to her),
Turned it's back and it's protective barrier
On one lost soul when it needed it the most,
Leaving my arms to take such scorn which was shown to me,
Through ruined walls and dirty bed sheets?

Rusty knives and hot, beating tongues kept searching
For such trails on which I mark with such disdain
And hatred, swooping to and from me,
In and out of me, and out of them as well,
Filling me, completing me,
Yet leaving me so heartbroken and empty simultaneously.
Blood spilled is the only way to show
The rejection, the meaningless void in which my life was
Sucked into by day, and rejected later by night,
Spitting me out and
Leaving only me stunned and terrified,
Crying behind those petrified walls, and filthy bed sheets.

And even now, as I lay flat on the floor, leveled with my security,
I can feel the goose bumps rushing up my arms--
Even though my skin and mind are dead inside.
And she's still out there, wondering why I'm not down,
Wondering why I haven't answered her calls
To come out of my Utopia, and into only theirs.
Perhaps she doesn't realize that I'm falling,
Drifting further and further away from this world.
The only feeling throughout my body is that of comfort;
The only smell verified is the scent of the blood dripping from my wrists,
Letting only that guide me to the delusion of my reality,
And away from these ruined walls, and dirty bed sheets.

-James Morgan