I look at photographs.
Bitter sweet in memory.
Daddy,darling daddy is staring back at me.
Or is he.
The photograph is question.
Is thirty years old or more.
Some years gone by since he deceased in body.
Many more passed since he died in my mind.
In cremation oven he was fried.
No way he looks at me now.
His face is charred.
Has melted eyes.
Powdered crush as fairy dust.
The now dead fairytale.
In his smile a depiction of lying love .
Fights back  always to catch my eye.
He wasn't really horrible.
Production of his living wife.
A vile tart without a heart.
That man decried out silently.
His tongue was bound be her.
Her whom I could not endure.
Nor entertain.
Wicked bitch cause too much pain.
She was his trouble and strife.
Ripped a home apart, that tart.
(C) Livvi Kent. 30.11.2013