Pathway of Tears
As a boy they were constant,
wet and salty to the taste as
they trickled down his desperate
cheeks, constant reminders of the
night ahead, his mother would wipe
them with her thumbs, he remembers
them well, trembling with fear,
knowing well that soon hers, would
fill a pillow as the beatings continued.
Tears filled this boy’s life, the terror of
what waited for him in his bedroom
closet, under his bed, and behind
his mother’s bedroom, moaning door.
The terror that stalked her, the demon
possessed her soul in the form of a
man, a drunk, an abuser, a defiler of
woman and children.
Her pathway of tears was a constant
reminder to this boy that no matter
what befelll him, his first loyalty was
to his desperate mother, who cared
for, protected and loved him,
with all her heart.
He would often hide in the sheds
attached to his flat, off the lane,
where rats infested and gathered,
but he knew, to be among the
vermin, would fill him with
terror, yet no regrets for the
plans he mapped there, to
kill this demon in his flat.
Plotting to poison him as he did
these rats, with stale heels of
bread and jam, dusted over with
white lethal powder, sweet to
their gnawing sharp teeth.
Oh to see the abuser, toss and twist
in his agony, whilst spilling his guts
on the bedroom floor, would bring
such joy to this boy’s soul, then
watching the froth gurgle from a
mouth so vile, his tongue swelling
as he fought for every last breath,
the abuser would choke as the
reaper dragged him to the pits
of Hell, screaming and clenching
his last fist.
The abuser had died with fright,
the rats fed on his skin and bones,
leaving nothing, they licked at his
blood while it flowed towards,
and finally down the sewer off
the back lane tonight.
He awoke once more, sweating
and weeping as his body shook,
knowing he was still alive and
bathing in his own blood, dropping
the razor to the floor, he fell into
a much welcomed deep sleep
forevermore, his abuser
Vincent Moore 2015