Wednesdays

Wednesday night, crouched on my beige couch, book in hand. 
A book about a fairy, a boy and a pirate with a hook.  
My mom is asleep, on her left hand is a graceful wedding ring,
I look at the clock, and suddenly my head begins to sting. 

It was always around eight o’clock that my mom passes out, 
High on drugs or alcohol without a doubt, 
And that is when my dad would come stumbling home, 
Every time knocking over one of my favourite garden gnomes.

He staggers into the kitchen,
I hear him sigh, 
My mom’s still passed out, 
I don’t know if she’s dead or high. 
Trying my luck, I tiptoe up the stairs to my bed. 
It’s the only place I feel safe,
With no nightmarish men in my head. 
But his booming footsteps follow. 

Will I be alive tomorrow?

I slip under my bed without a sound, 
Trying to get away from the stale stench of corruption.
And then suddenly his belt buckle hits the ground. 
What did I do to deserve this?

Childhood ripped from me,
Using his own two hands.

He climbs in beside me and my head turns into an abyss. 
My body turns charcoal, indigo and olive. 
My mind turns confused, to this I didn’t even agree.
When he is finished, he sends me a gruesome smile. 
His face and his presence to me is now just vile. 
Once he leaves, I try to fall asleep. 
With his face and body in my mind, I begin to weep. 

Innocence.
Childhood.
Happiness.

Everything had turned to dust,
And the bones in my body had began to rust.