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Apr 2017
Your son is dead they said
I remember little more
Until waking naked, freezing, foetal on the kitchen floor
No tear's came no primal scream
A living nightmare a waking dream
Last breath taken at four years old
Eyes closed, lips blue his skin was icy cold
Years have passed I still feel pain from the worst day of my life
Even simple memories open wounds like the sharpest knife.
Matt Earl
Written by
Matt Earl  52/M/northampton uk
(52/M/northampton uk)   
352
 
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