The problem with You

You beat me, leaving bruises on my skin.
I lay on the floor, tearful from your sin.
I cry myself to sleep, feeling all alone.
I only feel safe when you are not home.
You say that you love me, say that you care.
But if you really did, I wouldn’t be there.
I’m ready to kill myself, make it all go away.
But I decide to take on another day.
More bruises, more blood more tears on my shirt.
All because you treat me like dirt.
“Goodbye,” I say, and I take my last breath.
The knife cuts deep, and finally I’m dead.
But that didn’t stop you, no you go on!
Beating the redheads, brunettes, and the blondes.
You tell them you love them, say that you care.
But if you really did, they’d still be here.
RIP to all violence victims

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