The Family Portrait

Slam. Crash. Slice.
The sounds of family life
echo in my empty room.
My only company: the spiders.

Slam. The door rattles on the hinges,
doubling up from the sound: I cringe.
Seeing only the backs of my loved ones
rips my heart to pieces.

Crash. Anger boils through the pain,
so the family portrait in that frame
ends up in pieces by the wall.
But regret is never too far away.

Slice. Maybe if I can feel real hurt,
maybe I won't feel like dirt.
Hatred of blood doesn't matter now,
salty tears mix with the mess in the sink.

If only I can forget this song,
lyrics were the pain all along.
Maybe the world won't be so bad.
Maybe my mother won't hate me.

My mother...

Shock electrocutes me,
I now can clearly see:
If only I could apologise,
maybe my mother would, I don't know...

love me again?