Him

I hate it, the way he whines, how weak he is, how little he understands. I wish I could demand he improve himself but no matter how I try he keeps to himself in that room which will turn to his tomb. since the day he came from the womb he stands, eyes filled with gloom, he's not attractive enough, he's not smart enough, he's not strong enough, he's not good enough. I tell him this, he starts to cry, Then I drive my right fist into his eye and scream Why, Why, Why? the pummeling continues his sobs turn to whispers his body stops flinching, his eyes finally dry, then i see that gloomy look in his eye, One last time I beg why. He laughs with his bloody complexion , how many times will you argue with your own reflection.