Cold

The furnace was blazing yet the home was very cold;
and it is here the story will unfold
In a corner stood a young man, eyes covered with his little hand
all his reasoning struggling as if in quicksand
No one heard the pleas he cried
to the mother from which he could not hide
"He was a good boy gone bad" spoke the bottle in her hand,
her anger did not subside
Its contents she ingested to carry out her treachery
the pain to him seemed like eternity
There they carried his body from that evil abode
the neighborhood was different as if poured from another mold
His life has ended but the mother grew old trying to identify the demon that made her heart grow cold