He sits there cowering

alone in his misery

watching the whip hissing

trying to stay just out of reach

of one too many beatings

emaciated and hungry

groveling for crumbs

he remembers sometimes

the shadowy figure of his mother

frail, gaunt and broken

too weak even for milk

watching her spirit break

day after rotten day

stripped of all dignity

too weak to stop the rape

by a sadist and his bottle

until one day there were flies

where her eyes were

no one wept, not many cared

and he was too busy surviving

who can fault him

for not understanding kindness

or a sympathetic look

a product of the demon's sperm

cursed with a nine-month term

in a womb with no warmth

hopeless, with glazed eyes

he waits in terror

a creature of darkness

a bastard child.

 

~Bittersweet~

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