Beneath the surface anger paces dark paths of red coals rips at nothing because everything has already been ripped away – torn apart broken – anger masks sadness over reality – reality of non-existence of family – talk about good times hope nobody notices they all seem the same – bad times come more frequently than good & every year they come faster longer – or maybe they always have the mind of the child ignored it to save itself – now the child is gone you realize that it can always be one of those days that truth weighs you down with every step – self medicate ur emotions to sedate pain – breathe in till nothing is left of ur mind to remember you with – exhale in smokes rings –  hope to something he never runs out on a bad day – fear for the hour it occurs because he toes the line of too far when his box is full & the shells burn hot.

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