The Boy They Built
The truth about abuse and betrayal. A Guerrilla Literature Poem about corrupted love by Kerr Martin, conceptualized, written and scheduled 9/9/25.
The first was the Blonde Siren, sixteen, feeding on a ten-year-old’s mouth, Hogs of War glowing on the screen, her parents downstairs the blind gods. She could have stepped in from the Rollin’ video, Backwards cap, a smirk sharp as a blade. I was the sacrifice, the lamb on the bed, while she conquered kingdoms and rode my silence. The second was the Vampiress, a succubus with hair like midnight rivers, who encouraged my words only to drink them dry. She promised immortality, her castle, her forever, her blood. But when I stepped across the threshold, she made me hers with fangs of lies, then vanished into the beyond. I was left undead, still searching for a father’s shadow. The third was the Familiar Ghost, an old flame, filling cups with offerings. She drowned me in her poison, climbed onto my unconscious body as if stillness could be consent. When morning came, she crowned herself my lover, my queen. I could not speak, with my throat full of shame. Betrayal found me once again. They were not monsters. They wore daylight faces, smiles that I knew as kindness. But they hollowed me out, birthed fangs into my mouth, turned my veins into catacombs. I became a creature left behind, a teenage vampire, drinking down my own abuse, learning to live without breath. Even now, when the mirror will not hold me, and I wear the night like a second skin, I hear them. The Siren, the Vampiress, the Ghost. They whisper through my blood, calling me back to the boy who never had the chance to simply be a boy. Never had the chance to love.