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The blood twists down the 13 yr old back
he whimpers, but doesn't scream
he can't scream, wishes he could
he wants to run

Run from the red hot embers
from the spiders in his bed
from the broken bottle in his mothers hand
he wants to run and forget every thing that has happened

It hurts for him to speak
the bruise on his throat darkens
he sees only the cold stone on the cracked wall
His father walks down the stair

Leaving the boy to wither and wish for death