Blood on my Hands

Fresh tears of tragedy fall upon a suitcase by my feet.
I decided to end my abuse, sick and tired of being beat.

Pain still fresh upon my face as well as in my tortured mind.
He said he'd stop drinking, sadly I believed him this time.

Things were going good, dad was trying very hard.
After a long day at the office he stopped by the bar.

Come Friday evening I returned home early to the house.
Dad was waiting with a hateful glare "how late you allowed out".

I tried hopelessly to explain myself that it was only eight.
To no avail as darkness greeted me with a bottle to the face.

Hazily I awoke on the floor 2 hours had went by.
A glance in the mirror revealed my twin black eyes.

I made a snap decision that altered my entire life.
I journeyed to the kitchen to retrieve myself a knife.

Snoring on the couch his whiskey bottle still within reach.
Time he's held accountable for years of promises breached.

Destination anywhere tragedy of fresh blood on my hands.
A sad and battered child, now a cold and lonely man.