All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Tattered
Bunks arranged in systematic rows,
So even, yet so rough.
Coarse splinters from the mahogany wooden floor,
All of it is recurring in my soul.
The apple-shelves near the beds
Making use of themselves.
At least someone is.
As I lay on this “bed of roses” in my own gloom,
The thorns drip toxic blood from my “lacerated” backside.
The irony occurs when I conceive this house is not a home.
Sleepless nights in darkness dwelt,
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
This cold, unloving mattress is stiff on my back,
And I still whimper as I listen to the shadows surrounding me.
The time of hurt, the stinging tears,
This abode demonstrates no mercy... and oddly, I plead for none.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 3 comments.