Each is my memory,
not unlike the figurines upon my wall.
With each sentence I remember all, an still there
are those I’ve no recollection, for I was too drunken & enraged.
For those please forgive me.
To the rage I am the slave.
Some day the rage shall be satisfied, or quenched of its thirst,
but not now, not when all are deserving of my outbursts.
So let me remind you of the darkness in men’s soul,& the many pains it may know.
Learn, & imagine what it is to be me.
Suffer the suffering in the safety of your home to make worth while my soul.
To understand the plight’s of those that know hell intimately.