I think about you

a lot, Momma.

I wonder if you're okay.

I wonder if you think

about me, too.

But I have some questions.

Why did you pick up the bottle?

Why didn't you stop?

Why did you hurt us, Momma?

Why?

We were so young,

so fragile,

so innocent,

so scared.

I love you, Momma.

But why?