Abundance of poems;

Everynight I can hear them;

Its three o'clock in the morning
And here I am, my back laying
Against the wall as I stare
At the ceiling and as
My tears kept flowing.
I can still hear them,
Everynight, I can hear them
Fighting. Shouting at each other.
I can here my mama crying and
Crying.
Begging, sobbing.
They tried to kept it as a secret--
But
Everynight. Everynight,
I can hear them.
And everynight, it gets worse.
And everynight, I think of grabbing
A blade,
But just like they do,
I kept it a secret;
But the funny thing is;
They do not know it.