Sins of the Father

I collapse from the weight of this crown. This malignant poison in my veins strains and pains me. Is a fantasy gleaned by a madman valid? Are these screams unheard? Give me a sign! The mercy of others waned years ago. Do not try to soothe me with platitudes, I am beyond redemption, for the "sins of the father" beat me down and restrain my progress. I cannot stop screaming whispers into the ears of the deaf, begging them to save me. I am wasting myself away into a fragile skeleton that none can see. None will listen and none will mourn. Bleed me dry and taste the fury. A delicious copper elixir. Still I mold this empty shell to show you, this listless, sexless, lawless epitome of apathy. I wish so much to share myself with you. To feel appreciated and unused. I lust for one to sweep away the cobwebs in my mind and breathe life into this corpse. A young adult with the thoughts and mind of an elder. Reminiscing about the memories but restricting new experiences. Writing is my life. Years of wasted literacy and academic knowledge held back. I long to unleash my spirit. Perhaps to the wind, as none will stay. And to the man who all but danced on my corpse:

I will never be your sick and twisted image of perfection.
I will always be your progeny, but never your reflection.