Broken Home

September 26, 2012
By , Beverly, MA
How can I call this broken house a home?
Hatred a chainsaw halving the boards,
Shredding the wood foundation.
Pain a flame, burning the memory to the ground.
Black ashes all around, melted picture frames.
A bottle filled with rage falls, shattering.
All that was contained spills and spreads.
Daddy, don't go. But he says he must
Why do you hate me so?
I cannot call this broken house a home.

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