Dear Child,

I had no arms to remove you, no voice to tell them to stop.

But I had a door, and I let hope in for you.

Dents line my walls, as the movers carried out my memories:

The clothes, the bed, the studded belts, the toys they took

until I am nothing but a shell.

I only have that picture, carved into my empty closet,

a picture of you leaving.The hope took you away.

I am nothing but bad memories. Don’t come back.