His Head In My Fists
Here I sit to write the worst thing I did
to my brother when we were kids with his head in my fists.
Slammed it against the radiator, to show him who´s the gladiator.
I thought no one dare laugh hilariously when I am seriously serious.
Though in reality he was the only one I dared to bully. He was smaller and sometimes he was really silly.
When I saw the trickling blood stream, and heard him scream, I let go and sucumbed to
the realm of mom, angry mental bombs falling on my dream of being loved and free.
I hadn´t killed him, he´s all fine. When we see us we wine and dine.
Those long times ago we were kids, and some memories we will never rid.
But it´s worse when we do obnoxious things as grownups while rinsing away memories of sins merely with water on our skins.
Wonder if I´m malicious when getting the fidgets.