Fragments of black are not fragments at all, but all that I see as I walk this hall
In childhood a memory burns through my skin, taking me back from this place to him
Him sitting watching wrestling in his underwear, with hatred with cornuts with whiskey with beer
I timidly tiptoe to be by his side, to ask for a cornut to hear his reply
GO TO HELL is still stinging though those years have past, and changed the reflection I see in the glass
And even now tears from red eyes will fall, when I stop to remember that blackness and hall
That once was my home and I guess now still is, cause I live in this place a scared little kid
And in my reflection his face still haunts mine, and dreams of the banter still cut through my mind
Did I really deserve to go to hell, for wanting some nurturing will someone please tell
Or at night as I lay fighting demons in sleep, my sisters both eaten by things that I weep
I show to the world a shame that’s my own, from memories taking me back to my home
Is there yet away to escape from a place, that’s in every corner of intellects space
Are fragments of black so deep they've composed, every pair of shoes and fresh change of clothes... ever to be lifted?

You have painted the wall of the room that every one of us with harsh memories of childhood still revisits...from time to time.

Perhaps the only "escape" is the continuing to embrace the certainty that we have learned from the neglect and chosen to live life in a different and healthy way.

Learning to pass on love to others - especially our children - when we did not first receive it, is the crowning of human potential.

You are THERE and write in a most beautifully human way. Accept the peace that is yours.

Blessed be

Thank you all very much for the reply's