She had the unskilled hands of a drunken craftsman
Destroyer of the ******* child who encouraged her wrath
Annoyed her with his laugh demanding he take it back

How black where those unsettling jokes he told himself
Like there is hope and soon death will release me
But the beastly kept him locked up
Shackled to fake realities, chasing different cities
Till she was too tired to run anymore and he was to damaged to ever escape

When the rage became less unexpected and more certain
When the real world became less reality and more like
A movie screen seen through a window
A world more fictional than any tv show
Because he could not touch it

The carpet stunk of ***** but he could not smell it
One adapts to the filth of their existence when it’s all they know
Her eye were rank with self-hatred and anger
But when one lives with the violence hope is more dangerous then
The hands of the abuser

Shadows dwell deep within his corneas
Drops of dread drip in his head
Turning any friendly touch into a potential attack
How could he not flinch at that

The brick wall cracks under the burden
The plaster crumbles after the burning
The house that held such horrors fades away
But the horrors still stay the same
Buried in the cement foundation

The little boy becomes a man
But distrust every inkling of happiness
Until his doubts become reality
And on the last seconds
Of the last of minute of the last hour
Of the last day the nurses hear
The lonely man say
I knew there was no love for me