A broken bottle of wine.
A few heartfelt screams.
"You don't get me
You never will."
Children cower at the rear.
Knowing that a fight is near.
Cuts on face
rib
leg.
Much less worse than the inner pain.





Said goodbye.
Left that day.
Broken mirror
shows the pain.
Children sigh
and wait a day
for Mom to come back
and stay and play.
The next week
She doesn't.





File papers.
Sign.
Here.
Here.
Here.
And right here next to this X.
Ironic.
Years of work.
Vanish with five simple signatures.
Ironic.





Pick up glass.
Sweep it away.
Simple
so Simple.
Not.
Children scar.
Its okay.
We like it beter this way.
Now we're old
living the same fate.





Now I'm old
and it's true.
Funny how it works that way.
Ironic almost.
She left screaming those same words.
My mother used to leave.
I remember siding
oposite my father.
But now I finally see.
Ironic, isn't it?