Scapegoat Symphony

You think —

You think I’m broken?

Broken?

I swallowed silence whole,

choked on invisible chains

you never had the guts to see.

Mother—voice sharp, venom dripping:

You’re the black sheep!

Always were.

Always will be.

Blaming me?

Don’t make me fucking laugh!

I bled for you —

every damn sacrifice,

and you spit it back as hate,

twisting truth to suit your bitterness.

Son—voice cutting like shattered glass:

Hate?

I don’t hate — I see.

You sewed my wounds shut with lies,

painted me villain

in your scripted tragedy of “perfect” pain.

Father—slurring, torn:

I’m caught in the fucking crossfire —

torn between your screams

and their deafening silence —

it breaks me every goddamn day.

Mother—snapping, venomous:

Breaks you?

You’re weak!

Couldn’t hold us together,

so you ran to the bottle,

hid behind your fucking cowardice —

not a man, not a father,

just a shadow with excuses.

Son—spitting fire:

Excuses?

I starved for truth,

while you fed me half-truths,

broken promises wrapped

in your guilt like cheap wrapping paper.

Mother—shrill, gaslighting:

Promises?

I gave you everything —

love you didn’t deserve!

You chose to be lost,

not me!

You’re the failure,

the stain on our name.

Son—voice screaming through the cracks:

Stain?

I’m the scar your silence etched deep,

the black sheep you birthed

then wished would vanish.

Father—muttering, fractured:

I wanted peace...

but peace is a goddamn lie here.

Mother—snarling, merciless:

Peace?

You’re the weakest link,

the man who folds,

not me.

Son—steel in his spine:

I’m done being scapegoat,

done carrying your shame.

Your black sheep

has clawed free from the slaughterhouse.

Mother—cold, cruel:

Then get lost.

We don’t fucking need you—

not now, not ever.

Father—whisper, ghost of a man:

We’re all drowning...

and no one saves the other.

Son—steady, final:

I’m walking away,

burning this house down

to build something real —

from ashes you refused to see.