You were weaned on serpent's venom
coursing your veins as cold blooded filth
nourishing a child grown in size, not love.
She was the dove, so light of heart
they gave her pills, but the stress just piles on
goaded by your vile words.
Look up and you'll see fire in the heavens
and below those heights lurks Hell.
How trivial then: weeping over the father that never was
anything more than a few lines of empty text.