sifting through past shit, i find a bit
of memories not of joy from a childs play toy.
how i remember when i was a boy.
“clean up this fucking mess”
“your nothing, nothing at it’s best”
hurtful words were said. i had wished i were dead,
so with his gun at my head…….CLICK……..
just a tease, not release, but a tease.
laughter broke out, when he found out,
about my failed attempt to get out.
“cursed to fuck up”
“why don’t you give up?”
but that was then, way back when,
before i said never again.
back to the present, i’d like to present,
a present, a pool stick bent,
bent over my back, my legs, my head.
for what? i ask;
“don’t talk back”
“don’t do that”
but it’s in the past, and yet alas,
the scars still last.