“Am I being a good boy, am I your pride and joy”…

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~

She’s been dead eight years…
But walks with him each day…

And as he closes his eyes…
He remembers her little ways…

The look she would give…
When she wasn’t impressed…

The things she would do…
To keep his soul oppressed…

Never providing any support…
Or praise when things went right…

Not showing an ounce of love…
It felt like a constant fight…

To gain any of her approval…
That would make him feel secure…

She was always so damn negative…
And it seemed she would ensure…

That he never felt positive…
By projecting her own misery…

Taking the fun out of his life…
If she wasn’t happy, neither was he…

And in her last few days…
She could be so scathing…

So when she finally passed…
He felt so free, so amazing…

Like a weight had been lifted…
Given the chance to escape…

But it didn’t last for long…
As his feelings turned to hate…

When she kept on appearing…
Her bitter voice in his head…

Haunting from the grave…
The ongoing legacy of the dead…

As she’s been dead eight years…
But when he closes his eyes…

She is stood there before him…
Using words to abuse and criticise…

Casting a constant shadow…
On all that he achieves…

And this ongoing mental battle…
Is slowly forcing him to his knees…

~

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