I think his books
Held his dream world
To get away
From a chilly dark basement
Filled with fear but covered up with lies
Midnight stroked the clock harshly
Unlike a gentle mothers hand
But harshly whipped
His heavy inked footsteps printed themselves
Down the bloody red chipped staircase
He didn’t bother a knock
And shoved open the door
Greeting him with a fake smile
He ripped my brother’s covers up
To discover a thick Harry Potter book
Being held in his cold shaking hands
The book soon became snatched
The rest of the books
Soon gathered together
Off his shelf
His fingers destroyed each page
The spine ripped off their bodies
Only left a pile of carcasses
Left for my brother to sleep
Tears rolled down his porcelain pale skin
His world
Ripped at the seams
To a reality
Facing this cold hearted man
Who smiled
And skipped
As a young boy
Up his chipping stairs
The door locked
As the turn of the key locked
So did my brothers heart