mood

Sometimes I see you turn right in front of

me.  I wish I were blind so I would not

have to see.  One minute calm, the other

minute pain as you rip the flesh off my

palm.  I look into your eyes, but you’re not

there.  I cry and plead.  See what you’ve done to 

me?  Do you even care?  No good answers

to sing sweetly in my ears.  All I get

is your same blank stare.  How can I talk to

you, my son, when you are no longer there?

 

 

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