Have you EVER properly listened to my words?
I don’t think so.
Don’t you see Im in pain?
Don’t you see, I’m not the same?
Don’t you analyse the stories I tell you?
About my past? but you just laugh.
You think Im joking. Well Im not.
My life consists of long, dragging on, bad dreams.
I try to communicate that to you, or so it seems.
Do you know how it feels, everyday,
Before you go to sleep, to have your breath taken away?
To feel hands around your neck, and the words in your ear
“If you don’t cry, this will be over quickly, my dear.”
And to just lay there in sheer indignation,
With tears running down your cheeks, because you can’t stop this invasion.
With the pain of it days after the event.
And questioning life every day,
Trying to comprehend,
How a god who would want only the best for you,
Makes abuse something you have to become accustomed to.
And you still have the fucking balls, to make fun of this.
You. still. don’t. understand.