from astory mine

Why would a child cry each night?

Home. Nicotine green,
The walls were obscene.
Pristine; dust, broken boards
And a screaming TV.
The bloodshot eyes of a man gone bad,
An asshole unfit to be a dad.

"Don't ask me how to cry," he said,
Whilst wiping the smut from his eye.

In the next room,
A curtain as a door,
Stella lies, the covers over her head,
Wishing she was dead.
Eyes squeezed tight:
"I'm in the arms of one who loves me,"
Wishing she was right.

A moan of fear from the ball of a girl
As she hears his chair springs shriek.
A smug shadow sliding into the room,
The floor that screams beneath his feet.
Still, as quiet as a man could be.
Please, she trembles, not today;
Come again another day.

She hears him breathe over her bed,
Reaching down with ten thousand fingers
To pull the covers from her head.
Thick and gritty, the voice of mud made man:
Stella... time to play,
Don't make me wait.

The rest is grinding teeth not to scream,
And red with penetration.

"Don't ask me how to cry," she says,
Whilst waving her childhood goodbye.

*

The thing is... I'm just too bored to think of anything but myself.