My blank page is staring at me,

and as the words begin to flow,

the disturbance of the peace

unsettles me more than ever



I am unsure

of how to go on with my life.

The knowledge of how my world

was to surely come to its demise

curls around my wrists in the

form of flaking scabs.


I do not want

to end up like the man I thought

my father would never

end up becoming.

It seems fitting

that I am

swearing to

never end up like

him, just as I did before,

only this time, I mean it.


I mean it when

I say that I will never die.

I will never allow my memory

to fade, for my children deserve

a father who will live on

in the memories of

the children whom

became his life when

they came out of the womb.


My children will never regret

the distance between our generations,

they will never forget the fact that

I love them more than anyone,

dead or alive,

and they will never feel unsettled

at their father's funeral,

wondering what they

could have done

to prevent this

lonesome day

for a few





years or decades.


I would have done

everything in my power

to keep my father from falling

to his knees in front of

his demons with

two shotgun shells

lodged inside the cavity

where I never used to believe

he had a heart,

but I didn't recognize

what I could have seen if

my open eyes looked his way

for more than a fleeting moment.


And now the price has been paid with a life that should have been mine.