To My Miscarried Child: or The Only Document Found on my Body if not for the Dog Walking Couple

I have tried to forget but you're stuck in my head
'Cause the thought of you waiting alone doesn't fit
With the model contrived from the parenting kit
I acquired despite beatings and lies I've been fed.
What I'd pay for a day, for a hug or a kiss
Or the chance to approve or deny a request
Of you, fondest of wishes, salvation disguised
As a flaxen haired cherub with fire in his eyes.
And your mother is coping, she's doing her best
To adapt to your death and rekindle the bliss
We ignited while making a life in her bed
But her passions are dampened and life is for shit.
So be patient and wait, it'll take just a bit
And we'll meet in that space between living and dead.