She put it on every time.
The yelling would begin and things would start breaking.
These were the moments he wished he were dead.
He would peer around the corner, to see that face.
The real suffering instantly covered with it.
"It is ok, honey, I just tripped."
But I knew his mother was too careful for that.
Lying in bed, sinking into the sheets.
He clutched to me, begging me to make it stop.
I pray, embodying all that remains of his innocence.
He hears the thud and anguished cry.
His eyes are squeezed shut, but I look over.
She is over him heaving sob after bloody sob.
"You did this, you did this"
The whispers were lost in the wind.
I still sit in the corner, next to the sardonic smirks
hearing he is till not old enough to live.
