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Witness

By @MeaningfulMee

Witness

Witness

He is a witness.

Standing in the corner, arms around his head.

Tears pouring down his face silently.

Always silent.

Dad’s has had too much to drink again.

Pushed open the door with “big man rage”.

Bottle in hand.

Mom by the coffee table. 

He watches.

Dad pressing himsel***ainst mom’s chest. 

She is saying no but he only hears what he wants.

She pushes him off, 

Tears falling onto the half lit *** butt.

He has a look in his eyes.

Evil.

Like the devil himself. 

Bottle breaks onto the floor below.

He doesn’t like contradiction.

Doesn’t accept it.

Yelling at the top of his lungs. 

Mum cawars down around him, 

Lets him use,

Abuse her.

His fist goes flying.

Hitting the face he vowed to protect.

Pushing her against the wall.

Family picture, breaks as it hits the floor.

Bones along with it.

Mum looking over to the corner,

Sorry lights up her eyes.

Looking at her baby boy watch the bruises appear.

His voice disappears. 

He watches in silence.

Suffers in silence.

Sun comes up, 

Schools on.

Walks past his dad passed out on the cough.

Resentment clenches his fists. 

Mum standing at the window smoke blowing out of her *** into the street of broken beer bottles and broken homes. 

Smile on her scared face. 

Bruises cover her skin.

Fear lits up her eyes. 

He sees it all.

Walks out the door.

Fists still clenched. 

Little Billy has his perfect dad.

Steady office job.

Family car. 

Kisses him on the cheek, 

Passes his lunch bag to him with a hug.

Not like his dad. 

The raging alcoholic.

Jealous as the monster himself.

Clenched fists, tencion once more. 

Lunch break comes along.

He has to occupy his mind. 

Writes a play.

Based on true events.

Little Billy plays his mother.

He plays his dad until the bell rings.

Each punch, each bruise.

Just like dad. 

The years go by.

Same routine.

Until one that day.

He comes home.

Another broken bottle on the floor.

Mum’s coat’s gone.

Dad is crying on in the armchair.

Trying to speck,

But his voice is gone. 

He runs in to mum and dads bedroom.

Draws pulled out. 

Ashtray full,

Blood on the carpet.

She had enough.

Her perfume still in the air but that was it.

Half a pack of ****.

Scent in the air.

Every other piece of her was gone.

Collapses onto her bed.

Punches her pillow.

Through tears,

Shouting “you left me”.

Sun sets.

He smokes her cigarettes.

Wants to feel connected to her. 

One week later, 

Getting the older ****** up kids to replace them.

Every pack he throws away,

He feels less connected to her.

Dad’s broken all the family photos.

Replace her perfume memory with spirits.

Broken bottles stay the same.

His drunken rage no longer has it’s old target.

So his son becomes the replacement.

Bruise cover his skin.

His smoke blows onto the broken bottles and broken homes below.

Plays stopped working.

Maybe drugs will.

Getting high to feel numb.

Waking up in the iffy alleyways.

Face tired and pale, but not bruised.

Mum’s never coming home. 

 

Dad had to face it eventually.

But not like this.

Opens the door, 

First day of sixteen.

Wants to talk things through.

Smell of beer, blood.

Sound of running water. 

Heart is pounding out of his chest.

Fear in his eyes.

The letter on the coffee table, 

Conforms his fears.

His dad might be an abuse mess but his all he has left.

Hands shake.

Slams the door behind him.

Runs into the bathroom.

There he was.

Pale as empty pages.

Water dyed blood red.

Turns off the water.

Pulls him out of the bathtub.

Onto the stone cold tiles.

His tears fall onto his lifeless face.

Shaking hands dial 999.

Ambulance is on its way.

Tries to find a pulse.

There’s nothing to find. 

Tries putting pressure on his wrists.

Dirty white towels soon turn red.

Tries CPR.

Anything to not feel hopeless.

But it’s hopeless.

Sirens park outside.

Paramedics push open the door.

Push him out of the way.

Trying to save a life,

But there’s nothing left to save.

Time of death “19.20” P.M.

Dad tried to end the pain but all he did was pass it on.

Something more to numb.

Something stronger stay high a little longer.

Til the low hits.

The low of the low that hits sixteen year old boys,

Sleeping rough in lidl car parks.

“Can I have some change ma’am.”

***** off”

Just an eye sore now.

Stealing used to be for a thrill,

Now it’s a method of survival.

A year passes,

Sees little Billy on the streets.

He’s thriving.

While he shoves needle dirty needles into his veins.

To feel something or nothing,

even he doesn’t know.

He is a witness, 

To the death of those who started only months before him.

“Look what will happen if you keep on going.”

The decomposing bodies scream, 

Is written on the walls.

He doesn’t listen.

Finally found that connection again.

Not to his mom to heroin.

Chasing a thrive that he will never get again.

His first time.

Two more months.

And he is the decomposing body.

The warning written on the walls.

He couldn’t catch the thrive before the flat line caught him.

Little Billy is a witness.

First to find his body in the iffy alleyway.

Going down there to numb the pain is perfect dad left when Cancer killed him.

Know he won’t listen.

Takes the needle, heroin.

Here we go again.

 

 

  

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