Jason Sales is his name
and he grew up in L.A.
Like any other kid, he wanted the fame,
but that's not all there is to say

He lived without a dad
all he had was his mother
and I think that made him mad.
Later he got a sis, although he'd wished for a brother.

He was so glad,
when his daughter came
Now he could call himself a dad.
But the way Bre' treats him, I think it's pretty lame.

Give me a break, Breanna,
he's your fuckin' father.
He gives everything to you,
maybe a damn 'Thank you' wouldn't bother.

The way you put on a show
Cause you fear of what people might know.
You fear for what they might find out
What your dad was all about.

The way he got into drugs and drinking,
Clearly he wasn't thinking,
for ahead in life.
For that's the reason he picked up the kitchen knife.

As he stands there in my grandma's house
in front of the sink,
he is quite as a mouse,
as he begins to think.

Whether or not to end his life,
or try to fix things with his ex-wife.
To stay and watch his first-born grow.
The answers to these questions, he will never know.

For what he did next,
was a big surprise.
He had slit his neck,
only to be successful with suicide.

Tweet

Comments on this poem/writing:

Click here to read other Poems by Ashley R

Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: All Rights Reserved.   No part of this website, including all pictures and written words,  may be reproduced or copied in any manner from this website without  permission of the original author of the work.  All poetry and pictures herein remain the sole property of the original author and/or copyright owner.  All poetry on this website has been submitted by the original author of the work. To contact any author of the work please e-mail: dreamer@dreamersreality.com  so the proper person may be notified.