by Catherine Smith
A father to two beautiful girls
Who thought more of their dad than anything in the world.
The love they gave you was just not enough,
But how can you blame them for your own stuff?
It wasn’t your girls that made you run.
It was the lost love of their mother that handed you the gun.
Some might say she’s a fool for not stopping you,
But how can you blame her for the things you do?
Going to the park was such a smart choice.
At two o’clock in the morning no one would hear the noise.
But you had it all planned; you told her before.
Then you blamed her for letting you walk out the door.
Yes, killing someone makes you so much bigger than the rest.
At least no one but you will have to deal with your nest.
Your life was jut way too hard,
But was she the one to blame for all of the scars?
It was almost as if your life was a game.
You played until you finally reached your fame.
Did you reach the level you wanted in life;
Or is she to blame for not wanting to be your wife?
Leaving now was such a great plan,
No more worries about her leaving you for another man.
What a smart thing indeed to shatter your own window.
How can you blame her for not wanting to be a widow?