it’s easier to say
that you’re dead,
instead of just,
and never looked back.
how ironic that
the prospect of your death
would be easier to handle
than watching you walk away so casually,
(a voluntary abandonment).
it’s easier to say that you’re dead
rather than remember
how my mother’s tears
created permanent indentations in
her skin. a permanent shroud of misery,
with skin turning to dust and
i say you’re dead
because the knowledge that you live
and ignore the children you
once loved and cherished,
tattooed permanently over your heart,
is the reason why my words come
from a place of pain
a permanent scar on my heart.
– i still don’t understand. i don’t think i can ever forgive you, father.