From age one to ten. You thrived in my life. Then you moved out of town. Cut away from me, with a knife. To Oklahoma, then down South. 14 years of age. I don't mutter your name. From my mouth. We rarely speak. But you tie yourself with my troubles. Deal with your own life. Deal with your wife, your 'double.' I love you, I do. You say the same, but is it true? You don't even say MY name. But when I forget yours. I am the one to blame. A few years ahead. Now 16. A lot going through my mind. Then you call me, with your drama. And your *******. Wasting MY time? I didn't know. You even realized I was alive. You say you still love me. But that's just a white lie. Daddy.