There were pieces of glass on the floor
He shattered the windowpane again
Hiding in my room I could still hear the uproar
I wondered how long she would survive the pain
My eyes were shut, I tried to block the noise, I tried to stop time, I tried to stop what he called was life.
In the Catacomb of my own fear and sweat and tears I waited till someone emerged victorious.
I prayed it was her, I prayed the crimson of her lips didn’t amalgamate with the scarlet drops that stained her porcelain face, as she lay, motionless, ignominious.
I made my way, slowly, quietly hoping he had finally left.
I smelled the whisky in the air, it smelled like him.
I saw the regret in her eyes, they were wet.
She held my hand and made me sit, cleared her throat trying to hide her guilt
She said
All papa do is preach, all papa know is to teach
Papa doesn’t love, for you aren’t his little peach
All I heard, all I remembered; I won’t be anybody’s bitch.
I walked through the cinnamon squares, hypnotised
I kept outstretching my hands but all I chanced upon were empty roads
I waited for sage to set in, to lead.
The waiting never ended while life slyly lured me away to reality.
The fruit hadn’t fallen too far away from the tree, I realized
In being lost I gained clarity.
In being alone, I was forced to choose; rather I was made to choose.
In actuality I had no choice, I couldn’t choose.
The door slammed open again, I withered between the used sheets of the bed.
I had no strength to do it all over again,
I wondered if it was someone new or the same vodka guzzling Ned.
I wondered if I was going to survive this night, like I did each night.
Would I ever get to just gaze at the moonlight and not run to the next red light?
Would I ever get to wash my hands off this blight?
For As I lay still, counting the green sheets of paper
I recalled what mother once said
All papa do is preach, all papa know is to teach
Papa doesn’t love, for you aren’t his little peach.
And as the door shut, breaking my trail of thoughts
I recomposed myself to repeat the same drill.
I accepted I was never his but was now everybody’s bitch
He shattered the windowpane again
Hiding in my room I could still hear the uproar
I wondered how long she would survive the pain
My eyes were shut, I tried to block the noise, I tried to stop time, I tried to stop what he called was life.
In the Catacomb of my own fear and sweat and tears I waited till someone emerged victorious.
I prayed it was her, I prayed the crimson of her lips didn’t amalgamate with the scarlet drops that stained her porcelain face, as she lay, motionless, ignominious.
I made my way, slowly, quietly hoping he had finally left.
I smelled the whisky in the air, it smelled like him.
I saw the regret in her eyes, they were wet.
She held my hand and made me sit, cleared her throat trying to hide her guilt
She said
All papa do is preach, all papa know is to teach
Papa doesn’t love, for you aren’t his little peach
All I heard, all I remembered; I won’t be anybody’s bitch.
I walked through the cinnamon squares, hypnotised
I kept outstretching my hands but all I chanced upon were empty roads
I waited for sage to set in, to lead.
The waiting never ended while life slyly lured me away to reality.
The fruit hadn’t fallen too far away from the tree, I realized
In being lost I gained clarity.
In being alone, I was forced to choose; rather I was made to choose.
In actuality I had no choice, I couldn’t choose.
The door slammed open again, I withered between the used sheets of the bed.
I had no strength to do it all over again,
I wondered if it was someone new or the same vodka guzzling Ned.
I wondered if I was going to survive this night, like I did each night.
Would I ever get to just gaze at the moonlight and not run to the next red light?
Would I ever get to wash my hands off this blight?
For As I lay still, counting the green sheets of paper
I recalled what mother once said
All papa do is preach, all papa know is to teach
Papa doesn’t love, for you aren’t his little peach.
And as the door shut, breaking my trail of thoughts
I recomposed myself to repeat the same drill.
I accepted I was never his but was now everybody’s bitch
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