Last Hit

The body is covered in rags the cloth as dirty as the ground on which you walk the young mind buried within the field a never ending path a sensation that kills and a feeling that thrills with each cut comes another stitch with each fit came another twitch another time that you missed the hit like a battered ball the batter split for as hard as you swung each time you missed for as hard as you tried you didn't make the list you were always picked last even in your own home what does feel it like, to be all alone? having to grow up more each year and by the age of ten, your childhood would disappear out comes the truth of your father given fear