Cigarettes and stale air,
my father follows with his heart,
my mother leads with her hands.
i may crawl on my bare knees,
for days without sympathy,
but i am the one who chose to kneel.
i have knelt before my own demons,
without a saving grace in sight,
giving them the upper hand,
letting them take advantage,
of every piece of soul they could reach.
and still, i have kneeled,
and curled back at every scorned touch,
never thinking to stand.
