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Tales From The Asylum - Dark Poetry
High Expectations Blade rests in the hand A pool of blood oozes from the wrist He lies helpless on the floor of the asylum How could things come to this? No physical or mental abuse Just the occasional sense of neglect Not number one priority in the race to progress Things to do and ladders to climb No moments for precious time The sharing of intimate thoughts Worked hard at school Always achieved high grades University on the horizon His parents started to grow apart Different objectives and ambitions Just the normal kind of thing But the pain digs deep A lack of physical and emotional love A middle class casualty on the road to affluence Too many things to cope with So self-aware, trying to fit in, Trying to impress the lads Trying not to come across as too clever Failing to impress A period of introspection follows More and more distant Locked up in his own world Things start to spiral out of control His diary a record of his thoughts A slow deterioration in self-worth We all need to be loved No point in flying high If you have nobody to share the success with Nobody paid attention to the quiet lonely boy Never the centre of attention Always well behaved And now his life is near to the end A final cry for help What could have led to such a tragedy? Another victim of high expectations
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