Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Applauded the jokes, Then stabbed the jester. Hushed our laughter, The games were all over. Manic man in our home; Reeked of gin- our father. He then made that B-line Straight for our mother. Hands tight on her neck; It was blood he was after. Her face turning blue. My skin growing hotter. Not one second to spare, Sister's eyes welled with water. I sprinted out to the truck and Grabbed the old mans revolver. Calmly walked back inside, and Painted the walls with our father. Momma cold on the ground… We couldn’t wake her from slumber. I swore at god all **** night For not making me stronger. They gave me five years in a ward, And my poor sister to foster.
0
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
Jim's Boy, the Painter
Applauded the jokes, Then stabbed the jester. Hushed our laughter, The games were all over. Manic man in our home; Reeked of gin- our father. He then made that B-line Straight for our mother. Hands tight on her neck; It was blood he was after. Her face turning blue. My skin growing hotter. Not one second to spare, Sister's eyes welled with water. I sprinted out to the truck and Grabbed the old mans revolver. Calmly walked back inside, and Painted the walls with our father. Momma cold on the ground… We couldn’t wake her from slumber. I swore at god all **** night For not making me stronger. They gave me five years in a ward, And my poor sister to foster.
christopher-kd
Written by
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem