I am nieve to believe your sickening excuse,
But for our son remain to keep the peace, I called upon a truce.

It's not fair that you dare, you act like you don't care.

I am stupid for understanding,
It's not like I'm a ***** or even ridiculously demanding.

He's your son, he should be your saviour
I'm shocked by your ways and selfish behaviour.  

I am a fool to let you rule this situation isn't cool.

A distant father but your not that far away,
Never interested in his schooling or parent teacher day.

I am fed up of hearing your always hard done by, yet you can afford to party don't you think that's just sly?

You go on like we live in outer space,
You never call or ask about him, to your own disgrace.

I am sick I've had this for nine years,
Our boy he thinks that nobody cares.

Two days out of fourteen you parent our son,
more bothered by drink not by the damage that's done.

I am scared our son is being effected,
when you let him down I can see he feels rejected.

You only have one chance to share these moments, strangled by your image and your lifes long torments.  

I am here everyday  by his side,
the pain he is feeling, he cannot hide.

When age catches up and your reminiscing,
I'll be sure to know you'll regret the memories you are missing.

I'm not mad, just sad, our boy needs his dad,
he should never have to feel like he's done something bad.

And when you wake up from the lifestyle you've live, I hope our son is able to forgive.

She gnawed at his flesh
She clawed at his skin
To fulfill her filthy sin
Violence
And rage
All this displayed
All of her hate
He wore on his face
And in the evening
After the bleeding
Pass the bruising
Red marks
He’d sniff and snuffle
His body would crumble
With all of the despair in his heart
He was told to remember
As his will was dismembered
And his spirits were crushed to the ground
This was all your own doing
Even though she was stewing
No fault of hers will ever be found

A shoebox of letters
hand written on yellow looseleaf
pages upon pages of promises
written in red ink,
a coffin in need of a burial
a reminder of a life
and a love denied.

February 14th, 1989
penned within my first year
the name at the top is not mine
but she writes to him
the way you will write to me
only two decades later.

I shiver as I read each draft;
to realize our failed romance
was but an echo of the past.