On the worse days, I ask you where you were, back when all this shit started. On the worst days, I yell it, screaming until my throat goes raw and only Mother keeps me from killing you, from killing both of us before we can't turn back. She holds me, you, both of us close, until it all goes away.
It'd be so easy, baby, to just kick our heels up and leave. But it's not meant to be, yeah? Easy, I mean. God knows he still. Well. Fuck him, he's gone, he's gone, thank God. You'll never meet him if we're lucky. Been talking to Stacy - she said not to let him control me. Can you sleep at night, baby? I hope you can. I can't, not yet, but I'm getting there, slowly. Small steps and all.
But on the good days, it's alright. And on the best days, I put my arms around you, and sometimes you kick, and I know we're in this together. When you're old enough, I'll tell you where you came from: straight down from Heaven on a piece of cloud, probably kicking real hard, just like you do now.
And on that night, I guess you were kind of already there, yeah? I just hadn't met you yet.
No comments:
Post a Comment