abuse in the eyes of a father and son

Please don't let the length of my narrative stop you from reading this! I feel this is a very powerful peice and would love to share it with you :) My name is Ben I am but three, my eyes are swollen I cannot see. He doesn't want me, she cannot see. all the things he does to me. The first time father hit me and the first time that I bled, my childlike heart just left me, withered away dead. My mother is with child so he cannot hit her hard, instead he takes it out on me, leaves me bruised and scarred. Mother said when my sister comes, things will not be quite so glum. Father says when the baby’s here, I will have to disappear. “She won't like you,” he said one time, “then I'll make you suffer, you little slime.” For when his hard stare is cold as ice, I know I'll have to pay the price. When the midwife said she was stillborn, my fragile heart was ripped and torn. She was so beautiful you see, She deserved a loving family. She would have been my saving grace, but my sweet angel was out of place. So heaven took back it’s fallen star, and left me instead with a scar. Despite how much my Father nagged, I knew I’d still be his punching bag. But that was for another day, a day when I would have to pay. When I wake up I'm all alone, the house is dark and they aren't home. I must do right and never wrong, or else I’m locked up all day long. I better hurry and do the things that each and every new day brings. I wipe the counters and clean the floors, I scrub until it burns my sores. The frigid cold, it chills my bones, in this vacant place I once called home. A vulgar scent hangs in the air, as I ascend the creaking stairs. Looking through an icy pane, I hear the school kids shriek my name. My name they scream and cry and sing, this name they made up for me is “Thing.” My teeth are cracked, I’m black and blue, but what they say just isn’t true. I’m not a monster, not a ghoul, yet they still keep me from nursery school. These marks remind me of my hell, a place that I know very well. For when I hear my Father scream, I pray it’s all a wretched dream. I hear him curse, my name he calls, I press myself against the wall. On the floor it’s too late, his face is twisted into hate. I feel the pain again and again, Oh please dear God just let it end! My name is Ben, I am but three, last night my father murdered me. The boy is gone but I do not fret That is not the worst of me yet. I turn to him to ease my stress, Against his body my hands will press. As the tears run down his face It sends me to a better place I yell and scream, and often curse Love is pain, but hate is worse. He used to scream and call my name Every time he felt the pain. That wretched sound I’ll here no more That sound that sent chills through my core I see his face and it makes me sick My heart starts racing, my blood gets thick. My hands they tremble, pulse and clench As I take in the morbid stench. The end is coming near I know. I have reached my all time low I climb up to the roof so high Staring at the open skies. As I look back at what I’ve done There’s nothing worse I can become I ease myself toward the ledge And surrender my soul over the edge. I feel the cold against my face And realize it’s hell I’ll soon embrace.