Hard Wood Floor

Think about what it'd be like
don't even care, if it seems right
its supposed to be a gift- this life
the little boy Let his presents sit-
this Christmas
his markers bled out
on the paper each and every day
and its draining,
soul depleting
and its hard to take-anymore
his Mother- she loves him
and his Fathers always there
its the voices inside him
that makes it unfair