Chapter 4. The Gift.


The Gift

“I was the only child to a single mum

My father disappeared, he went on the run

He got involved in dealing drugs

He owed lots of money to some seedy thugs

My mother was an ex-convict

My mother was also a drug addict

I remember my childhood like it was yesterday

My mum’s teeth were rotten, they were black and grey

She always had a syringe stuck in her arm

Track marks and scars from self-harm

She often left me on my own, took ages to return

About her young daughter, she showed little concern

Her nose was always red and runny

She ate very little, lost weight of her tummy

Her pupils always looked like piss holes in the snow

She always looked depressed, always looked low

She was always sick and sweating

To take good care of me, she was always forgetting

Towards me she had a shitty attitude

Always screaming at me, always in a mood

She took me shopping, from each shop we would drift

Whilst I watched from my buggy, watching my mum shop lift

Stealing clothes, perfume and jewellery

Not stealing food, so that she could feed me

She was always thinking about herself

Never me or my health

I often cried with hunger pain

All my mum was concerned about though, was cocaine

My mum practised voodoo, believed in the occult

When spells went wrong, it was always my fault

She had spells for this, and spells for that

She even bought herself a big black cat

In her bedroom, she had an altar covered in candles and flowers

She believed that the candles held magical powers

She would light the candles and go into a trance

Sway backwards and forwards like she was doing a slow dance

Her alter was covered in old grey bones

Covered in twigs and funny looking stones

She believed in vengeance instead of turning the other cheek

Said kindness and forgiveness, were only for the meek

She said God only existed in a fool’s mind

You get no thanks in this world for being good and kind

I remember on my eighth birthday

Social services took me away

They took me away and my mum didn’t care

They put me in a children’s home in the middle of no-where

But before I left… my mum went in her pocket

And around my neck she put a locket

The locket wasn’t made from silver or gold

It was made of bone and looked very old

It hung from a rope, the rope was grey

Around the edges, it had started to fray

It wasn’t sparkly, it wasn’t bling

Meant for a pauper and not for a king

But it had been the only gift that she had given me

I think it was her way of an apology?

My mum said that I must keep it

Or I will have bad luck bit by bit

She said the locket was real and not imitation

Whoever wronged me would be condemned to damnation

She said I must never let it out of my sight

Not in the day and not in the night

She said the locket had been made by a witch

But the rope from which it hung made my neck itch

So I took the funny looking locket

Off my neck and put it in my pocket

Chapter 5

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About The Jaw K.A.Shaw

I am a writer from Manchester in the U.K. A writer who believes to have written the World's longest novel in the English language, written by a single person and in Rhyming Couplets. My book, The Jaw Revisited is over 100,000 words which span over 450 pages. Although in the literary world this is classified as poetry, I believe it is a fusion of Poetry, Art and Horror story telling. I do not pretend to be a literary genius, I just write from the heart and what comes naturally to me. No flowery words or phrases, I don't compare thee to a summer's day or anything like that. I write about true life drama, Science Fiction and with a weird imagination. Combine those three together and you get The Jaw Revisited, a no holds barred, straight to the point, dramatised, adventure through life.

Posted on July 10, 2011, in Chapters From The Jaw and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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