If I could sit there with you now
Your body coiled up on the floor,
All your seven years of life
Amounting to the aching in your side,
Trust me, I remember the taste of blood
That made its way from your hairline to the floor,
The way his boot met your side
When you were already on the ground.
Telling Mama won’t do anything,
She’ll choose him over you.
So tomorrow when she asks what happened
Just tell her that you fell.
I know you’re too young to understand suicide,
But the tight grip of death
Already has its hold over your mind.
Seven more years will pass
Before you can finally tell the truth.
But by then, my dear, it will already be too late.
Because your skin is torn,
Your spirit is broken;
Somehow you’ll turn into me.
So clean up the blood from your face, my love,
For today will not be the worst day.
You’ll see me again in the mirror, darling,
And I’ll see you in my sleep.