stab push lift pour
stab push lift pour
a ghost of memories past
a small boy no older than 12
he had curly black hair just like mine
he had brown eyes just like mine
he looked just like me
but thats because he had a last name ... just like mine
this was no tragic accident
but a carefully crafted punishment of a young boys mind
and the piece by piece fragmentation of his soul
every hurtful word, every disgusted look, every should turned
slowly braided itself together to form a string of ideas
every moment of hurt, every memory of pain, every day of neglect
slowly looped itself around him and knotted everything together
as if it was a gift of a ticking time bomb, wrapped in images you wish to forget, topped off with a bow of stripped and flattened emotions , signed with a card that simply says ... **** yourself
they say no one is responsible for his death, and the kids who teased him said " I was just joking"
well here's the punch line, i wonder which one of you ran through his mind when he finally kicked the chair out from underneath him
he stepped up on that chair with his final words that should be as historical as "four scores and severn years ago" or as revolutionary as "I HAVE A DREAM"
and hearing his last cries would be like hearing a nuclear warning siren... a scream of an inevitable end
and walking in and seeing his body hanging there like a forgotten halloween decoration was as sickening and heart breaking as seeing a ******* painted in a synagogue
i still keep his noose and i keep it mounted on the front door like a wreath , as if to say
HANG YOUR PRIDE AND OFFER A HELPING HAND BECUASE IT COULD BE THE LIFE LINE SOMEONE NEEDS
please , from a father left incomplete because they are burying a part of me
stab push lift pour
stab push lift pour