Release on Christmas Mourning
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It’s 6:45 on Christmas mourning,
And the child opens her eyes.
A look of untold sadness adorning,
An innocent face that cries.
.
She allows herself the thinking,
That if she doesn’t see green it can be red.
All the while she hears the sinking,
Of her father finally retiring to bed.
.
She pulls the cover closer to her face,
That child shouldn’t have to feel this way.
She’s taken it all with a smile and uncanny grace,
But it seems she comes crashing down this day.
.
Holidays are always the worst,
She thinks about how different she is than her friends.
But if she ever saw a suffering half as bad she’d be the first,
To sacrifice all she has to bring the seperation to their ends.
.
It’s 6:50 on a Christmas mourning,
The child hasn’t felt like this before.
She arises with a strange look adorning,
Her face as she creeps to her “guardian’s” door.
.
She shivers and places her hand on the handle,
And opens the door with steely vigilance.
She walks up to the bedside with a candle,
And watches over him with unearned diligence.
.
She nudges him in the shoulder,
And whispers “Oh daddy, your face...”
His stare was even colder,
Than the absense by the fireplace.
.
Her eyes welled up again with tears,
And she leaned foreward to inspect the bruises.
The melted wax slipped from the candle like tears,
The best person always looses.
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He stormed up, but fell back down,
He’d been drinking just a few hours before.
He wished he could go ahead and drown,
The natural consequence of a whore.
.
The girl dropped the candle and ran from the room,
And past the empty spaces above the fire.
She thought about the wife and groom,
And how the preist was a liar.
.
She rummaged through the kitchen in a surge,
Of desperate action and impulse.
She finds a knife and will finally merge,
The outside with a pulse.
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She traces the knife over the scars on her wrist,
Such a pathetic attempt at what is so easy.
She silently went through the too-long list,
And began to feel quesy.
.
She walked up to a mirror,
She never knew she could look so bad.
And nothing else could ever steer her,
To her impulse than her dad.
.
She raises the blade, destination being reached,
And she cut in quite so hard.
Embryonic growth, barrier breached,
She was finally caught off guard.
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Copyright 2000 XsladE