Demonic Lulladies

His Name Is Chris

HIS NAME IS CHRIS

Poetry
©Sitarra "LullaDIEs" Sefton

-

Coming home tonight I hear a cry,
Daddy wont let mommy sing a lullaby.

I'm six years old,
The night is cold.

Daddy bellows for me to go to my room,
I go, hoping to avoid my own doom.

Dishes break, curses clash,
I hope this is over fast.

Something falls against the door,
And slumps down to the floor.

I hug my favorite teddy bear,
Cause I'm so scared.

I pray all night that mommy wins,
So daddy will just leave again.

But I don't think God is here,
I think it's the Devil I feel near.

I can't tell, I'm just a kid,
I only know I want him to quit.

But I can't hear her cry anymore,
And Daddy's still screaming "Whore!"

His name is Chris, he's full of shit,
And he never ties his shoes.

Coming in the house,
Sneaking quiet as a mouse,

I'm eight years old and full of fear,
I understand something Evil's here.

I don't want Dad to see me,
He's still watching the TV,

Mom's not home from work yet,
Dad's already drunk I bet.

He sees me sneaking in the hallway,
I regret coming home early this day.

He comes at me in a drunken rage,
He slaps me to the ground; begins a rampage.

Feet kicking, fists swinging, and flying spit,
He chuckles slightly as I convulse with bloody vomit,

It's the verbal attack that bit at my core,
"You're weak like mommy. A little whore."

Then her car could be heard outside,
"Stay in your room or I'll skin your hide!"

I'm thrown into my cage, and he slams the door,
Mom's in for a beating, and punishment more.

His name is Chris, he's full of shit,
And he drinks the Devil's booze.

Now I'm ten, and pain is a habit,
Life is more than just traumatic.

At least I'm okay, here in my room,
My safe place... my harbor... my tomb...

I can hear the chaos outside arise,
My dreams these sounds will terrorize.

Mom purposefully keeps his attention on her,
She still tries desperately to protect her little girl.

I sit alone in the dark, and listen to Mom scream,
I don't understand what made Dad so mean.

I realize now Mom and I are cursed,
Long ago God decided us to desert.

The shadows creep impossibly closer,
As silence falls across my enclosure.

Dad bores with torture, he goes to bed,
Leaving Mom in the living room, only half dead.

I sneak from my room to patch her up,
My way of thanking her for being so tough.

Her face is swollen, bloody, and bruised,
I promise us both we can survive this abuse.

His name is Chris, he's full of shit,
A women's pain keeps him amused.

I finally hit puberty at twelve years old,
Boys take notice as my figure moulds.