They opened
The drawer
That held
Your son's
Body,
Brutally
Ripped
Open
Where his
Heart
Should have
Been.
So fragile,
So pale,
Razor
Scarred
Wrists,
A toe tag-
He stares
Blankly
Up at you,
Face
A bitter
Male
Mirror
Of yours.
Stiff
And
Bloodless
Upon
Cold
Stainless
Steel,
This boy
Was your
Blessing,
Your worst
Disappointment.
"Yes, officer,
That is my
Son."
Freshly
Returned
From
Your son's
Newly filled
Grave
His ghost
Stares
Bitterly
At you
From his
Old bedroom
Window
Before
Silently
Turning
Away.