He kept hate for the mother that loved him and taught him to read by the age of three,
And then crushed his little heart when she left him just as easily.
Another batch of hate was reserved for the monster that put him on the end of the line
Asking each child if it was them she moved closer to his time.
Obviously, they all replied in the negative he didnt have a clue
Till she got to him and said “so it must be you”
Dragged from the couch everybody watching his pants dragged down
He was viciously assaulted with a slipper he screamed as his skin began to blister.
Another time drying his favourite football socks on a parafin heater, he burnt a hole in the motherfuckers
Scared, he tried to hide the evidence to no avail, it was him and his little brother
Made to lie down on the bed next to each other, stripped from the waist down
The question came at him like a bullet he was too scared to admit it
Smack! She moved across to his brother, who also denied the “crime”
Whack! Time after time brother to brother, one to the other
Both were screaming with the pain, until baby brother screamed in agony
“It was me”!
She let the older brother leave the torture room. He gingerly pulled his pants up
Wiping a tear from his eye, he saw his baby brother cry and cry
The beating his little bro received after he had left the room for letting his brother take a beating for no reason
Sticks in the memory like a scar across his heart. It was his responsibility
To look out for his baby bro ever since they mom let them go.
The guilt sits there heavily although so young he had no remedy
It does not matter he let his brother down the fear was too much to take
When recalled he feels like a fake, tho they never talk about the past
The pain and the guilt still last.
Then he keeps a place deep inside filled with hate for the priest
Over flowing his inner being holds a large amount of hatred its a shame