times are tough
and so are
the weathered
hands that
used to hold
and feed you.
times are tougher
and more so
when the hands
that feed you
are bitten off,
arm and all.
when is enough,
enough?
how low
will you go?
alas, we will
never know.
can you reach down
the depth of the
bottomless pit
the same one
you dug for me
so many years ago?
it is yours to keep
your personal hell
a hole in my heart
a hole in my pocket
that could never
be filled, ever.
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