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Imprints.
He sits in the shadows of his home
 Waiting for his father to wake
 He taps his heel and makes a fist
 He’s had enough, 
 He can no longer bear the pain
 
 His father keeps his eyes shut
 And the breathing slows
 Just a few more seconds,
 And this will be over
 
 He glances at his hands,
 Noticing the imprints on his knuckles
 They match the wounds on his daddy’s face
 And he may be a killer, but he saved himself.
 
 A lifetime of hits,
 Just passing his time,
 He waited for his father to stop,
 But he would never be that lucky. 
 
 It was coming, he knew.
 The day it would finally be over;
 He waited a while, almost too long
 It was just a matter of time.

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