I have a loft full of toys, kept for children I’ll never see.
I wrote a book, made up some characters, so they’ll have something from me.
In my darkest times I wrote a note, to show them what they had done.
Those shrieks of pain, the tortured cries, relief from which there was none.
Their words, the lies, the haunt me still, and I will never know why.
They taint the happy memories of all the years gone by.
I hope they hang their heads in shame, and forever regret their past.
The hateful things they’ve done to me, they will remember as their last.
They will try to shut me down on here, freedom of speech is my right.
Am I expected to just take all their shit, and not put up a fight?
So when they mourn, and stand and cry and put on another display.
Walk on by, don’t even look, don’t give them the time of day.
I stood by them, defended them, even when they done me wrong.
But when I needed them the very most, I looked around and they were gone.
They left strangers looking after their mum, after all I’d done for them.
No care, no thanks, no loyalty, but abandoned time and time again.
Its almost over now, my days are coming to an end.
SO if this is the last I ever write, goodbye my reader, my friend.