1 is the life she decided to waste
2 are the love words she threw away in a haste
3 are the cars she has parked in her alley
4 are the times she cried at the valley
5 are the times she tried to run away
6 is for the times they begged her to stay
But 7, is the times she cut her hand again
You see this number reminds her of agony and pain
Its the number of cuts on her fragile little hand
Its the number of kicks her mother couldn't stand
Its the number of punches she heard before she cried
Its the last number of doses she took before she died
A troubled little girl from a house of abuse
Where punches and kicks were always put to use
Her mother would hear him then make her go hide
She heard her get kicked while she counted and cried
One kick two kicks and finally three
''Who do you think you are talking back at me?''
Four punches five punches til he reaches six
He breaks the vase she was working hard to fix
Last but not least comes the number seven
And she almost heard her mom go straight to heaven
He walks away and leaves her lying on the floor
She stops counting at 7 and knows there's nothing more
She comes out And helps her mother sleep
While the whole situation cuts her heart so deep
She goes to her room and locks her windows and door
She sits down and starts crying on the floor
She opens the drawer she swore she'd forget
And takes out the blade as she loses her bet
Six bloody lines neatly aligned on her arm
She draws one more, she doesn't see the harm
With seven red lines that deemed her unstable
She drew 7 more on the light blue table
Seven white lines of white substances; crushed
The purest and deadliest her hand's ever touched
One sniff then two then comes three
She feels herself completely care free
Four sniffs then five then comes six
She feels as though her mind and soul clicks
The seventh sniff left her a little dizzy
She begged her eyes to focus but they seemed a little busy
They were focused on a flash of white light
Her brain was shutting down and she couldn't seem to fight
She walked into the light as her life passed by
She saw every time her mother would cry
She saw all the times she would count to seven
She saw her dead body heading to heaven
But most of all she saw the ill treatment and abuse
She heard her mother tell her excuse after excuse
She felt her brain shut down and it all went dark
Her lifeless body lying next to the white mark
Her hands on the floor as white and red mixed
She was the soul that couldn't be fixed
She was a faint memory like water on juice
The girl that come from the house of abuse
The_Outkast
YOU ARE READING
Deadly Rhymes and Laughing Times VOL I
PoesíaShort stories turned into poems for the "best of both worlds" experience. I don't relate to most of them but A LOT of people from all around do. Since we can't physically see what people are going through; at least these words are there to comfort t...
