A Twist of Hate

At eight years old
She decides she rather be dead
So she kills everything about her
She lives in her head

An eight year old
This is a story untold in many broken homes
Where domestic occurrences happens ten fold

One night she received a knock on her bedroom door late
After her bedtime she knew it could only be one of two

Eager to answer, she has not seen you all day
She really missed you
Once your frame was revealed
The outline of you seemed something shrewd
She knew something was amiss
She later admitted
At the moment you were her favorite good night kiss
Yo embraced her with affection and whispered softly that you love her
Though eerily she felt the sense of needed protection

The liquor on your breath was a knockout
You've drunken yourself into a stupor
One of your last

She felt it first stiff against her hip
She became frightening stiff
Tensed
Knowing your erection was filled with a killing infection
You then regained your fleeting sense and forced rejection
Not strong enough to fight him off
He signed your death certificate

At eight years old your life was over before it began
Specialist said nine more years...maybe
Years passed as you continue to hold back the hooded man
His icy cold breath
You can feel just creeping on your hand

Time passed as she grew
I did two
Problem though is I grew to be a replicate of the predicate
After a while you destroyed the only relationship in life that was relevant
The misplaced hate
Directed towards me was now the main dish on my plate
At eight years old
Life ended for you

At three years old
I would have gladly taken what was your fate.