Everything was cold,
the house, my room,
my mother most of all,
cruel, calculating, but mostly cold,
to her child,
to me.
Life didn't apply to me,
only madness,
emotions brought pain,
thinking, disappointment,
obeying stopped my hunger,
killing stopped the beatings.
She experimented with my mind,
my body,
my soul.
Forced to join with liquid despair,
it turned my blood black,
black,
black like my future.
My home wasn't safe,
just a place for pain and killing.
My mother wasn't loving,
only wanting what I could become.
My body wasn't private,
shared between a demon and my soul.
I was never left alone,
joined with a monster.
Painful prodding and beating,
he drove me onwards to meet our needs.
Self-preserving and defensive,
for himself or me, I was never sure.
With him in a world I didn't understand,
living was something scary,
that I didn't know how to deal with.
Thoughts brought discomfort,
madness took over,
and the future turned black,
black,
black like my blood.
A/N: My main intake on the Crona poem is that it's all in past-tense, meaning she's recounting the sadness, not currently experiencing it like other poets seem to think. Also, the poem has to be short and simple enough so people like Black Star can also be depressed by it. It also has to be short with full simple sentences rather than phrases. All in all, I believe that that any poem that follows these parameters are the most likely to replicate true one.