Death is a thing that comes and goes.

Death is a pain everybody knows.

Death is a thing that's not deserved or owed.

Death is a pain that continuously grows.

"Why do you have to leave?" The six year old cried by his mother's side.

Francesca had been diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer about four months ago, she had been lying in the hospital and her health was quickly depleting. She knew she wouldn't have much time left.

She spent individual time with each member in her family in her final moments.

"I'm not leaving, think about it like me seeing you later. You will always be my peanut."

"I'll always be with you, right there." She pointed at his heart. He held her hand in this spot until he felt it go limp. Everyone in the room cried, holding each other tight, replaying memories of the woman in her head.

"I'm gonna get you, little bug."

"Do you wanna help, muffin?"

"Where are my three musketeers?"

"Dove, you're making a mess!"

"Love you, Peanut."

-

Sneaking out all times of the night,

Giving his father quite the fright,

The suffocating tension in the air was tight,

Leaving the house solely out of spite.

Paul paces around the living room waiting for Micheal's arrival. The key jiggled in the lock, the door knob slowly turned revealing a groggy looking Micheal.

"Where were you?" Paul yelled at his oldest son. He had been out since last night and hadn't returned until the next day.

Ever since his mother's death, he had been sneaking out and getting into fights. It was a distraction to the emotional pain that the death had caused.

"It doesn't matter." He shrugged nonchalantly, hanging up his coat on the rack.

"What do you mean, 'it doesn't matter'? You were out the whole night and didn't even let me know." He yelled back. Paul had bags under his eyes, visually worried for his disappearance.

"You didn't care before, why care now?" The seventeen year old's voice raised slightly.

"What are you talking about?"

"This wasn't my first time."

One more drink added to the shrine,

Beer, Vodka, Whiskey, and Wine,

Wobbly legs, can't walk in a line,

One more drink to his death he signs.

CRASH

"Pick that shit up right now." Paul heard his second oldest son. He usually wasn't one to raise his voice, that made him suspicious.

"Liam, what are you doing?"

"This idiot dropped the vase." Liam pointed at the seven year old, tears streaming down Hayden's face. Paul could smell the toxic stench from Liam's breath. He sent Hayden up to his room.

Ever since his mother's death, it's been hard to move on. His 'friend' had introduced him to alcohol and it made him feel better, made him feel numb. It gave him the illusion that the pain was gone but it only made it worse.

"Liam, are you drunk?"

Liam wobbled over to his dad in a crooked line, placing an arm around him. Paul yanked the arm off of him, dragging him up the stairs.

"Nooo," His speech slightly slurred. "Even if I was, it doesn't matter." Paul was confused by his second oldest son's outburst. He had always been the one to tell his brothers not to drink.

"It does matter that my fifteen year old son is coming home especially since his older brothers look up to him so much." He retorted.

"Whatever." He shrugged.

"This isn't something you can shrug off, what if you hurt someone, or yourself?" Paul exclaimed.

"You didn't care before, why care now?" The fifteen year old's voice raised slightly.

"What are you talking about?"

"This wasn't my first time."

He took a puff of the cigarette as he cried,

Mourning his late mother that just died,

His tears dried, his cigarette fried,

Why do you smoke? Slow suicide.

"What if we get caught?" Jaylen asked his brother, taking another puff of the cancer stick.

"Stop being a pussy, we are not going to get caught." Jayden let out the horrid smoke from his lips, blowing it in his brother's face.

"But what if-" He was interrupted by a knock on the door, it could be recognized as their father's.

"Shit." Jayden muttered, immediately putting out the cigarette and hiding it in the trash bin. Jaylen did the same.

"You were saying." Jaylen retorted, Jayden smacked him in the back of the head causing him to shrink back.

"I'm coming in." Paul called from outside of the room. The door slammed open and he was immediately taken aback by the smell. He waved his hand in front of his face.

"Are you guys smoking in here?" He scrunched his nose, still fanning his hand in front of his face.

Jayden and Jaylen started smoking with the help of Jaxon's influence. It was only supposed to be a one time thing, but they couldn't stop. They were supposed to be able to stop whenever they wanted but addiction doesn't care. Young kids like them were supposed to be sneaking candy before dinner, not sneaking in cigarettes from unknown sources. Another cigarette was another nail in the coffin.

"No, what...? Why would we smoke? We could never. Pfft. As if we-" He was cut off by Jayden slapping a hand over his mouth. Jayden sighed defeatedly, shaking his head.

"First Jaxon and now you guys, I don't know... is that trash can burning?" He stopped himself, grimacing. Smoke was emitting into the air from the trash can, the horrid smell suffocated the room. Paul glared at the two boys while they sheepishly backed against the wall

Paul rushed to the bathroom, grabbing a cup and filling it up with water. He poured the liquid over the trash can, the smoke slowly diminished.

"Go get the air freshener please." Paul sighed, staring at the blackened garbage. Jaylen scurried into the bathroom, hurrying back with the vanilla scented air freshener. He sprayed heavy amounts of the warm scent, choking everybody else in the room.

"Bro, chill out." Jayden coughed out, yanking the air freshener from Jaylen. He muttered an apology looking down at his socks.

"Why?" Paul asked.

"Why what? We didn't do anything, it was-" Jaylen was cut off again by his brother putting a hand over his mouth.

"It doesn't matter." Jayden shrugged nonchalantly, glancing at his brother next to him.

"But it does matter, my thirteen year old triplets all smoke and they have all given me the same answer. I just want to be there for you." Paul almost begged.

"You didn't care before, why care now?" The oldest thirteen year old's voice raised slightly.

"What are you talking about?"

"This wasn't our first time."

TW: Drugs

The drugs holding him against his will,

His hands go limp, making the contents spill,

Hallucinations making him shrill,

Drugs so strong, they could kill.

"Mama, is that you?" Jaxon called out, hallucinating.

Jaxon had started taking drugs after he needed replacements for his cigarettes. After he was caught with them, he lost all access to them; he had to find something else that made him feel better and those were drugs.

"Jax, who are you talking to?" Paul dazed out of tiredness, calling out to whoever was up at three in the morning.

"Look, it's Mom." He pointed to thin air, Paul glanced over at what he was pointing at, only to look back at Jaxon with his eyes squinted.

"Is this some kind of joke because it's not funny?" Paul scolded at his fourteen year old.

"Mom, where are you going? Mom, don't go. NOOO." Jaxon yelled, waking everybody up in the house. His brothers rushed downstairs in a tired, panicked state as they looked around where the commotion was coming from.

"Jaxon, what's going on?" Paul started becoming concerned, he knew Jaxon would never joke to this extent.

"NOOO!" He yelled again, this time dropping to his knees. Paul rushed over to his son, catching him before he made impact with the floor. His brothers quickly ran to the scene. Jaxon was wailing on the floor screaming about his mom.

That's when Paul noticed an empty pill bottle rolling across the floor. He decided to save the lecture for when Jaxon would actually listen.

-

"I just wanna know why." Paul sighed.

"It doesn't matter." Jaxon shrugged.

"It does matter that my fourteen year old is taking drugs. What if you got hurt, I would never forgive myself." He looked down at his lap.

"You didn't care before, why care now?" The fourteen year old's voice raised slightly.

"What are you talking about?"

"This wasn't my first time."

TW: Suicidal Thoughts/Self-Harm

One more cut, just one more time,

He wiped the razor of the crimson slime,

One more cut, spilling the grime,

A supplement of pain for a lifetime.

Blake watched as the scarlet liquid dripped from his arm on the cold bathroom floor.

Blake started cutting a few years ago, he deserved the pain that he inflicted on himself. The absence of two important people in his life took a big toll on Blake's life. What was so bad about him that everyone in his life wanted to leave. That's why he did it at first but now, it's just something that he got used to; he didn't need a reason anymore.

"Blake, you've been in there for a while. Are you okay?" Paul rapped on the door. When he got no response he knocked again. Still no response.

"I'm coming in Blake." He waited a few seconds to open the door but nothing could've prepared him for what he saw in that bathroom.

His second youngest son in a detached state, a razor, a puddle of blood on the floor. It was pretty easy to connect the dots.

Paul ran to his son, immediately ripping the razor out of his hand, not like Blake even noticed. He continued staring at the blood that he spilled. His dad gently pushed his back, guiding him to the bathroom sink.

The water ran over his wrist leaving a red tinted residue in the sink. Once the water became clear, Paul turned off the water and grabbed a brown towel from the cabinet. They stayed in silence as his dad wrapped the towel around his cut wrist.

"Hold this." Paul told his son but as expected, he didn't respond. Paul sighed and placed Blake's other hand on top of his towel covered wrist. He left the room for a second and came back with disinfectant and a bandage. Despite the affair, his father stayed in a tranquil state while he cleaned the cuts and wrapped the bandage around his arm.

"Blake." Paul sighed not expecting a response but to his surprise, he slightly lifted his head up and looked his dad in the eye. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It doesn't matter." A croaky whisper came out of his mouth, once again surprising his dad.

"But it does matter to me son, you matter to me." He begged, tears brimmed his eyes.

"You didn't care before, why care now?" The thirteen year old's voice raised slightly.

"What are you talking about?"

"This wasn't my first time."

Another hard punch coming to his face,

Running away, keeping his pace,

His legs burning throughout the chase,

His small footsteps not leaving a trace.

Hayden slammed the door closed after running back from school, gasping for air. Paul wasn't expecting anybody home at this time, he grabbed the kitchen knife and sneaked towards the front door.

"Dad?" Hayden called out, Paul let out a breath of relief and put the blade back in the knife block.

"Hay, what are you doing home so early? It's only..." He glanced at the clock, "one, school ends at three thirty." That's when Paul noticed the heavy breathing and giant bruise on his son. He ran over to him examining his face.

"What happened, son?" He continued searching his face, trying to find any more bruises. Hayden pushed his father's hand away in an attempt to cover the others but it was too late. Paul was mortified with what he found. Small patches of hair were ripped out of his head, his face was covered in scratches, and his eye was swelling up.

"What the hell happened?" He asked firmly. This made Hayden burst out to tears in his dad's arms. Startled by the action, Paul wrapped his arms around his youngest son, comforting him with soft words. Paul guided him to the couch. Hayden sat on the couch, resting his head on his dad's lap.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" He asked, rubbing Hayden's back. He didn't respond, just silently crying. Hayden soon fell asleep in his lap. Paul carefully carried him upstairs, avoiding waking him up. He placed him in bed, placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Love you buddy, please tell me this hasn't happened before." But we all know,

This wasn't the first time.

-

The dreadful memories invaded Paul's sleep, he was twisting and turning throughout thinking about how much pain his sons were going through.

The more memories that came, the more he realized how much of a shitty father he had been. He was barely involved in his sons' lives since an early age, his schedule flooded with work but he couldn't use this as an excuse.

He could've made time for his sons but instead, he neglected them and their feelings. He didn't know their favorite color, favorite food, childhood friends, what they wanted to be when they grew up; none.

Reality had finally set in.

_____________________________________________________

2174 Words

Any thoughts?

I personally really liked the chapter but I want to know what you think.

Did you like the poems? Should I do more?