What parent do we hold responsible for
Losing that fat fickle child we call empathy?
Father was always drunk on the whiskey
He drank so proudly at the end of each
Day of pretending to sweat out his living,
When really it was just borrowed from
Those who couldn't afford a good skunk.
He never once turned around for any child's hand.
Mother watched but never listened and even
When her ears were open and her eyes
Looked to the sky, the mind-numbing
Moving portraits would twist her
Neck back down. If only they
Learned to talk less about themselves.
I was her brother and damn if I
Don't try, but so often evil
Catches my eye and sinks its swollen
Fangs made of glass into my neck
Injecting venom that goes straight
To my so often unused conscience.
I inject ink as antidote and
Pray for her forgiveness.
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