He gave years to his rage,
wanted to spit in her face,
and **** on her grave
while he danced and celebrated.

A slave to his pain,
drank his own poison
let it burn and ulcerate,
edging him further in
a constant caustic states.

Fists into metal
hating himself.
She taught him
how to hurt
and he learned
those lessons well.

Till, the day she went gray.
Her mental faculties faded away,
and he couldn’t yell at her
cause she didn’t even
remember his name.

He spent his whole life
in a state of strife,
but when she died
he wasn’t satisfied
cause all that anger
didn’t buy him pride,
give him any smiles,
or take back the times
he was tired and wasted.

A pointless existence
bitterly spent
with no way to repent
and get those lost moments
back again.