You. You with your bottle and words
sharp like broken glass on the floor
from the glass you threw at me. You.
You with your addiction always thinking
about yourself. I might be your daughter
but the blood in my veins is thinner than water.
Trust me, I wish I could change that red
poison which binds me to you, maybe then
this wound would hurt less.
Did you feel like you had control in your miserable
life every time you would come home drunk
and beat the shit out of me, my mother and my sister?
Did it make you feel good or worthy? Did it mean anything?
Did you ever regret it?
Million questions I’ll never get an answer to because
to this day you deny ever being an abusive monster.
You can deny it but it doesn’t change the fact that
there is a special place in hell reserved for the people
who try to put out the light they brought to the world.
And you still think you’re a king. Well, dear father, kings
protect their heirs and you tried to put yours into the ground.
Kings leave a legacy for their kids and you just took and
broke everything. Left me with nightmares and scars
that still bleed every once in a while.