Can you suggest an effective title for this piece on the cycle of abuse?

The boy could see the bottle getting closer

Below the empty holes within those eyes;

Fingers clenched around the ashed remains

Of the past, burned into skinless cries.

Sounds, like sugar in the blood, getting thicker,

Undissolved- seeing red, too hot to wrangle;

Branding iron fist, big mark on small jawline,

Fractured filaments in flashback, oddly angled.

Brittle bones gnashed, behind toothsome snarls,

Malnutrition, breathing dread in frothing spittle.

A dangled doll, broken; and now..... he says 'so sorry'

With an earnest grin that splits him down the middle.

The father dies, the damaged son carries on the curse,

Doing to his own son what his father had done worse.