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Man, it's hard keeping
Up on this site,
With writers writing all night;
If I had my druthers,
I'd spend time like some others,
With reading more than I write.
Meter isn't perfect, but you get the idea... I'm sure.
Being drunk doesn't excuse it.  
"You didn't know what you were doing."
"I love him, he's my son."  
You don't remember what you did.
Do you know he still does?

The purple in his cheeks.
Lips split.
Eyes scared.

Look at what you have done.
Harmed your own son.  

It hurts when he laughs.
His cheeks sting as he cries.
Back jolts up as it touches the back of his chair.

Is it fair?
The boy scared of wearing a belt.

It reminds him of his father.
The way he cornered him, till he was a pleading and crying mess.  

The smell of alcohol lingering in the air.
It makes him sick.
He remembers.

He runs his hands up his left arm.
Cigarette burned holes scattered.

He couldn't take one more beating.
He didn't know how.

He tried his hardest.
As he closed his eyes.

He tried suicide.
He tried it all, the pills, the windows.

He couldn't do it.
Leave his mother and brothers behind.
Just because you were drunk, and can't remember. Doesn't mean they don't. They remember the betrayal. The broken trust. How does a parent do that to their child
The manifestation of pain and anger
Does't equal love's opposite
11315
10w
Even the tiniest piece of you
makes my heart full
111315
10w
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