Thinking perhaps a yellowish skeletal figure sick in the face, mine or yours, and of what you might be.

A beautiful little shit woman like your mom. And then what would or how much will I have to do?

Smart like your brother, fucking me up around every corner, another crooked branch on this family tree.

Like me? God help us, this town and these worried people need a fucking break.

Will you be less fortunate because of the mistakes I have made?

I can see you now little boy made of clay, mine for the shaping, dream like but for the first one to erase.

Sassy little girl and I won't know this from that. But your safety will haunt me knowing what's to give and all that is to take.

You will have all of me and that is arguably good or bad.

But kid of these strange times you are coming into the world, one out of control, but most certainly defined by your dad.

Work like hell to erase my things, put the kibosh to all the future bad times I might have caused you to have.

On account of me squirt, that's why, words now to be saved for later, cause I can't relegate these feelings and I'm already sad.