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Jan 2015
His younger brother died
Some time ago
So he sat and cried
Eating his happy meal
Ironically
Sitting on the fourth church pew
We sang hymns
He prayed curses
To a God that didn't seem to hear
Or a mother that wore too much make-up
A father that beat him every day
Wise eyes
Written on his face
At such a young age
Now
As I stroll the grounds
Feeling you six and a half feet beneath
I learned what you knew
All along
How can you not pity his place?
Should have known
For fear of the footsteps
At bedtime
Rhet Toombs
Written by
Rhet Toombs
345
   amelia, Santiago, alxndra and rey
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