Proof

A Poem by Sam

The shallow grave that is boredom
Swallows me down, the Devil is DJ
It is no rave, hot and burn, hot and burn.

The air scrapes my throat
Like sandpaper
Even the elements dislike me,
A hypercondriac, symptomatic
Of being raised by the sick,
It engulfed them,
My Father was Cancer,
My Mother was depression,
"Kiss it better, quick".

Actions speak louder than words,
Yet I have talked my life away,
Don't hoard the truth
Sweet Mother of youth,
I want proof,
Oh God I need living proof
Send me someone, a messiah
The bearer of love, truth, proof.