Pain, since you were a newborn.

Pain, your mother with a belt and devil horns.

You sit in the corner and cry, praying to god, asking why?

Poking at bruises and scars, watching your mom get hit by cars.

People all stare, but they aren’t aware,

Of the war in your mind, the marks nobody will find.

Every night you wake up and scream, from the horrible things that you dream.

But your dreams are real, so you have to deal with everything that you feel,

Being butchered like veal,  but your lips are sealed, and that s***’s real.

Contemplate ending your life, alleviate the pain with a knife.

Always hated.

Self mutilated.

You try to explain the pain, as the sorrows rain.

You gain the sight, that when your parents fight.

It increases the rate, of their growing hate,

for each other, your sister becomes your mother.

Because the woman that bore you, fights a war too.

She chases that high, all day and night.

Your wrist continue to bleed, that blood drips on a seed.

With power and magic, it blooms a flower whose beauty is tragic.