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To Hold A Stubborn Grudge

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As I glance at the photograph
snapped before I had awakened,
my life, I think, could easily have taken
a much less bittersweet path
if only father’s drunken wrath
had never let us make him
leave, yet is he quite mistaken
I ask, as mother’s angry laugh
sends down my spine a shiver,
her seething biased recollections
pervade my life, those sick infections
make my mind rage, my body quiver.
Father, why can’t you understand,
for my sake please just hold her hand.





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