My father was stern man, with calloused hands and dark skin
He didn't show his love like other fathers.
He showed it by leaving at 4:30 in the morning for work in the hot sun
He showed it by saving every penny for my future
He showed it by working himself to death
{m}
YOU ARE READING
Perfect Kind of Hell
Poetry'The torture of loving you was addicting You were like a drug that was forever in my veins Your harsh words did nothing but make me crave you more And your cruel hands did nothing but make me want to please you Everyone told me you were hell, an...
