Along the broken hall,
In the broken bathroom
Of a broken home,
There he is slouched.
His bleak, vacant eyes gazing
lazily at me;
The eyes of someone close.
The little boy speaks with
a man’s voice
“I saw him standing over
her-
A puddle of blood.”
I try my best to pick him
up,
But I drop him.
I try my best to carry him
But I am too weak,
I cannot carry him,
I cannot carry-
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