It's long, but I took the time to write it, and it took a lot more time then it would for you to read and review. I'd appreciate comments, feedback, constructive criticism. I'll edit in another part later. What happens afterward and so-forth.



Black lies behind dead eyes, hidden in the depths like small animals retreating,
sheltered in caves of skin, caring a great weight and as if fatigue-defeated.
He had memories of scarcely any food eaten, days he was savagely beaten;
flitting through his head, his sour memories broken by his mother's face, sweetened.

The numerous lashes and gashes... his body ravaged by deep stratches,
obscured behind clothes, like his mother's wounds after marriage matches.
His heart was dark from the constant fighting, each moment a nightmare,
hands shaking when he wakened, from sleep to consciousness--- his worst fear.

His fathers eyes remained constantly opiate, and he'd stumble across his stashes,
unable to hide what he'd find, he'd become subject to the man's harsh lashes.
He advocated his innocence, but his pleas bounced off the man in his drugged state.
There were days his mother would come late, the beatings and cries keeping him awake.

One day he was coming from school, noticing strangely every house light on,
silhouettes of arguing figures easily visible through the velvet curtains drawn.
He could remember his backpack's weight as he approached the steps of his home,
eyes widening in disbelief at the retort of a gun firing, splattering the curtains with chrome.

He charged into his house, smashing straight through the hard wooden door,
footsteps losing speed as he entered the living room, a figure sprawled on the floor.
Her frail hands clasped to her chest as she did her best to stem the blood flow.
He saw her kid through her glazed orbs to his crazed eyes. "I just want you to know..."

Her breathing began to slow, blood staining her hands and her once-white blouse.
"I know want to tell you a few things . I'm not a good mom...apparently not a good spouse."
Tears flowed from his eyes, rivulets of the water landing on the toes of his tattered shoes.
His eyes narrowed as his mom choked, blood at the corners of her mouth, seeing his knees, bruised.

"I'm not looking for an excuse, I need no forgiveness, I've been so very naive..."
His mother was dying --- and impossible thing, something he refused to believe.
"Live life, like I haven't, and I haven't had the chance. Get a girl, marry, have some romance."
Ashamed, he looked to the side, seeing the gun his father held in his angry glance.

From the corners of his eyes, his mom died, the young kid was no longer stable.
"I'm tired of your fables, I can easily see every single false pretension,"
said the son. The reply? "Now child, these are circumstances beyond your comprehension."

"What is wrong with you?" asked the killer, eyeing his wild son with his glasses askew.
"You don't know the truth, you have no proof, let's calm down and talk for a few."
"You can't fool me dad, I saw you shoot mother while coming home from school.
I'm no longer your slave, you bastard, I'll be brave --- father, you have no soul."

His father rose the gun, pulled the trigger --- the product of a false marriage closing his eyes.
Tears streaming causing him to taste the salt on his lips, not wanting to die without final goodbyes.
A neighbor appeared in the doorway, staring, petrified by the horrible scene.
The bullet punctured his shoulder, spraying blood --- he couldn't believe he'd die at fourteen.

yo... I really like the topic you chose.... and the words you used. I wasn't real feeling the rythm though.