They call me the favorite, the perfect child;
Their words biting at my fragile skin...
Expressions rage cross my face
while fingers tap away on counter tops...
and she was....
nothing but bitterness...
Where are you sweet girl...
Trying to grip onto that last hope
with a signal that has been lost within...
Upcoming test,
In the way of rest...
A prison lays inside my mind,
continuous worrying...
She knows
what is to come...
Every time I think about you, my heart begins to...
The hurt you placed upon my life, put everything...
Born into a house of utter disgust,
Instead of a home of the upper crust...
All She has to say
Is get downstairs...
Under the cold, moonlit sky,
Lay the gardens, grown from blood...