A lot of good it does, that smile.

Mother, I’ve gone and died.

Keeps playing in my head,

Her despicable nonchalance for the

Children’s meager pleas and sore

Teeth (with cut cheeks), crawling

Inside the broken home, the walls

Of desperation and little prayers,

A boy given water and hell, his

Heart sprouts and becomes void

Shaped a decent fellow, mind is a

Box within a box, within a box, within

Nothing.