Hit the youngest son and teach him
how to admire pain
you’ve already decided he is worthless
the blood on his lips is weakness
Temper lost and found bruises
Kill all his Gods and only you remain
as the devil he has admired after all these years
Face in the dirt from another beating
You spat on him
Washed your hands of him
As long as he doesn’t cry you can
return to the boring Tuesday night
Belittle him and feel the satisfaction rise
Fear is beyond him now he is scared
Dominion is the seed you have planted
now weeds have infested his life
But what life?
He will pray that his death is swift and painless
You’ve made his life a living Hell
His arms are grazed and his eyes are swollen
Knock him down once more
and he will not get up
Don’t tell him to stop crying
It is the only freedom he has

The End

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