This ain't over, Jack (or) we've only just begun to die

Hello it's me again 

the death-eater dad's spawn

the brain-cursed kid on whom

the doom is starting to dawn

back for round two in the

memory goo-stew to romp 

got some personal hell to sort

and evil juju to curb stomp

parting gift from my pater's

dark flirtation with the grave

You haven't heard the last of  this, Jack

I've got an inner child to save

my old man who knew I 

hated him self-applying that name

when I tearfully told him so

LOLed and did it just the same

And speaking of dumping junk 

in your kid's mind to blight

it wasn't the only or worst 

for me he'd a special gelignite 

To call it by name is verboten

you can't even use the word 

it starts with sui and ends in cide

but fine for this kid to have heard

so I can't pen about the pain 

that my father inflicted on me

internet protocol forbids that I

spell out his threatened heresy 

and beyond threats, promising

he'd bring himself to an end

I'd cry and beg him not to 

he'd smirk and leave me to fend

( I was five). 

I see now he was bluffing 

my eyes washed clear by tears

the self-harm song he sung

just to trip-wire my worst fears

terrified that he'd upsticks and go

as he and mom had often done 

I'd walk through fire to shield him 

from the Ku-Klux-Klan of his gun

I see now it wasn't for me

that I body blocked my dad

it was for him that I feared 

it hurt like hell to see him sad

but now I ask myself was he

sad or were S-word threats a tool

to get me to do what he wanted 

to see me dance like a motley fool?

who sends a kid to fight the

demon horde in his stead 

combat fatigue like no other

it sent me out of my head

But a wary word to the wise

too little too late for young me

you can't fight the dark with only

dad's gaslighting by which to see

I'm so exhausted by grief 

and this poem has no close 

this ain't over by a long chalk

I've much more hurt to expose

there's no such thing as closure 

I'm bleeding from so many sores 

unlocking one door just leads to 

many more crazy confusing doors. 

But this ain't over Jack. Not even if the fat lady sings. 

(photo is me at age 6 or 7 around when he started his death threats)