Happy Child

Somehow,
They did,
They did worse than to hit to hurt,
They hit to kill,
To kill the spirit inside,
The only one that could be deemed
A will to live,
They teamed together,
So it seemed,
To twist daggers into that core
Of that spirit
That was born unbound,
Though had no drive.
This spirit had a spark that
Would fly but would be so quickly snuffed out
By the lightest gust of wind or sprinkle of water,
Would nearly disappear,
But somehow would always light up again,
But yet had no drive.
They hit to kill,
The multitude of these people
Almost criminal they were,
As they pushed this poor, unbound, fading spirit
Downtrodden,
Onto the ground,
They would stab and twist a dagger into her gut,
But she did not cry or scream,
Or even whimper-
Because she was such a “Happy Child”
And one day this poor, wounded happy child
Pushed another poor, innocent little child,
Onto the ground,,
And pulled out clumps of her hair-
But this child screamed, wept, and shrieked
Because this “Happy Child”
Had nearly killed her.
What happened to t his “Happy Child?”
One day she bought a gun,
Put it to her head,
Pulled the trigger,
And shot herself.
Her spirit lives on and shall be reincarnated into another,
A spark, quickly snuffed out,
It shall be,
Until it is lit up again,
And fools others into thinking
“We are lucky to have birthed such a happy child!”


Claudia Krizay(schizoclaud)