The knife in the back was held by one,
It holds the bottle Daddy couldn't drop,
Mine crack and bleed because of my condition,
My grandfathers curled up as he lay dying, just as his mind had years before, as I watched,
My mothers shook as I held her close,
I held his and he pulled me down into hell with it,
And my grip is becoming weak,
Its so hard to hold onto you, when the hands are pulling me away.
Nothing has been handed to me, but pain.