Abandoned
My feet are cold...Dog teeth tear my soul out
And it sits before me,
hollow...
Petrified and in chains.
I explained how my mother kicked me out.
And how it all happened so close to Christmas.
I told her that I would leave and not come back.
But where will I go?
A couch there.
A hotel here.
The TV warms my thirty dollar room in a blue-ish glow.
My mother's face floods my head.
She smiles at me, waving, and heading toward a light.
A light far away from me and everything I stand for.
But yet, I still love her.
Merry Christmas, Mom.
By: Brandi Deacon
2010
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