Last Cigarette

A single mother,
Alone at home,
As her son returns from school,
Smoking a cigarette,
Waiting on the door step,
But this she doesn't know,
When she sits and waits for the boy shes always knowen,
His clothes are being torn,
Beaten by a doctors son,
Because his mother packed his lunch,
Six years old is not that old,
As hes being brutally tortured,
Life seeps away,
From the scars that are showen,
The pool starts to form,
After his nose has been broken,
Everything he has known,
Is meant to reflect hate,
He was never meant to die today,
It wasn't fate at play,
This was hate.

The distiled blood that an angel bled,
Saviour this flavor as Dracula spreads,
Roam in search of a dragons bone,
To release this dreaded curse,
Let fate return and take its course.

Ian Robert Potapoff