Please forgive me as I tell you a sad tale.

Remembering this memory makes me ail,

But I have to tell you my sorrowful story.

Don't worry, I promise that it won't be gory,

Yet there's no doubt living it was the worst.

Let me start and tell you how I was cursed:

My mother had AIDS and was going to die.

I knew, but the way it happened made me cry.

See, an ear infection killed half of her face.

Her right eyed died becoming frozen in place.

It scared me terribly because I was only nine.

Then one afternoon I found her in bed, lying,

With my grandmother weeping above her.

She was alive but I would have prefered

If she just faded away quickly without pain,

Because what went down that night was insane.

In hours, she regressed to a child-like state.

Then my dad got home and he would infuriate

My grandma because he told her she had to go.

They hated each other, so this started a row.

She would scratch him before giving up.

Before she left, she told me to stay tough,

And that whatever happened, it would be ok.

But what did go down still haunts me to this day.

While my dad was bitching about his arm,

My mother started raising quite the alarm.

Louder and louder she called for her mother.

No matter what, she would not accept another.

Now like an infant, she cried and fought hard.

Yet, fate stacked the deck so that the cards

We were dealt were progressively more vile.

All night long, my dad would help her while

I laid there crying wishing I had a sibling.

My dad would come in occasionally, but the thing

He did was not comfort me, instead he vented

His worried frustrations on me while I pretended

Like I wasn't the most scared kid of all time;

Being a narcissist was always my dad's crime.

My fears would magnify though, as after midnight

It worsened and my dad was nowhere in sight.

My mom was wailing, so I got up and searched

For where my dad might have slinked and perched.

He was nowhere though, so it came down to me

To be the one to go into my mom's room and see

What I could do to comfort her in this agony.

Entering, I saw she was naked, but it wasn't funny.

I knew it was my mom, but she was so different.

No child should have to see that their parent

Has been reduced to a blubbering adult baby.

Still, I thought that I could help her, just maybe;

Never had I been so wrong about something before.

These moments grew poison roots inside my core:

Kicking and screaming she pushed me away;

She didn't recognize me as her child in any way.

However, I knew she was my mom so I kept

Trying to ease her suffering as we both wept.

I can never forget how it felt to be a failure

In helping my mom with even the smallest favor.

Soon I was crying more than her as she died.

I know that I did my best because I really tried,

But, damn, can words not describe the hell

That I went through during this tale I tell,

As well as years afterwards to this very day.

If Satan offered me healing for my soul, I'd pay.

But, that's not an option so I choose to write

About this cursed memory that I still fight.

Critique One 

Critique Two