Final Letter

December 28, 2007
By Kristin Stone, Clarkston, MI

What makes you think
You can treat me this way?
The yelling,
The screaming,
All the pain.

Waiting at home for the arival of you.
The clock passes midnight,
The sky turns from black to blue.

Finally the time comes,
When you stuble through the door.
Alcohol stained on your breath,
Lipstick stained on your shirt.

Which path was the wrong way,
To the arival of this?
No longer can I be with you,
Without the love and bliss.

I coneclude with a plead,
To you from me,
No longer can I live with you,
I want you to leave!


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