Growing Cold

Five years old with golden hair.
Mommy's gone, she knows not where.
Sisters are scared and Daddy cries.
Slowly inside the little girl dies.

Nine years old and very shy.
Step mom spanks and girl asks "Why?"
Lonely lonely in her room.
She tries in vain to mask the gloom.

Twelve years old and Mommy's back,
She's driving Daddy's Cadillac.
She has a drink and does her hair.
Little girl wonders why she's there.

Seventeen years and still so shy.
Wants a boyfriend but scared to try.
Falls in love with the wrong one.
And almost wishes she had a gun.

But look at this.  A bottle of hope.
With sleeping pills she may just cope.
No more tears and no more shame.
She wonders who will be to blame.

But even after twenty-two,
She still awakes and listens to
Those taunting voices in her head.
Telling her that she's not dead.

After three attempts over the years,
She finally learned to wipe her tears.
All it takes is a pill a day.
To keep the demons claws at bay.

Thirty-six now with two boys.
Diapers, bottles, baby toys.
And a 12-year-old who's a little shy.
I hope he never wants to die.