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Father, Father

Kiahara R., Boston, MA By UndefinedBeauty, Boston, MA

The liquid form of my pain stream down my pale complexion,
as I slam my fist into my reflection.

Glass shatters, falling to my feet as I scream;
This feels like a horrible dream.

It's now I begin to realize; My father is not coming back for me.
My heart beat may now cease.

Or shall I let it continue on in a broken beat?
I fall to my knees. It hurts too much; this feeling of defeat.

My father chose his bottles and his mistress;
Does he even miss me? Does he hear my calls of distress?

Tell me please, I need to know...
Why did you have to go?

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