Found him dead,
Alone,
Front corner of my kitchen,
Bleed to death,
Still clutching his murder weapon,
It was onr of those God Damn lids of the son of a bitch cat food 9 lives,
I recall the can it didn’t open properly,
He could not free himself from it,
So he died alone,
In the crappy ass kitchen with no electrics on the cooking side of the kitchen,
Wonder if land lord never inspects any trailer that arrives or is here?
My bedroom electrics shotty,
Have only used ceiling lite twice in three going on four years,
I’m pleased to have found. My little boy and that his spirit is here not on some road or at the hands of a bigot!
He wasn’t even six months,
I need land,
Hate tossing someone I loved in a trash can,
Val Whitewolf 