A young child's is sick of being abused and does something about it. |
The doorknob is twisting I run towards my room He’s in the house now I feel a sense of doom I can hear glass break As he throws a bottle at the wall I close and lock my door Before he gets into the hall His steps get closer As I huddle in my bed His twists the lock doorknob As I cover my head He bangs on the door Screams at me real loud Says he always lied to me Says that he was never proud The rage in his voice Scares me more then his pounds I scramble off the bed Fall onto the ground I run around my room Try to find a way out I try to ignore the hurtful words As he pounds and shouts There’s no way to escape No where to run I walk slowly towards my closet And pull out the stolen gun I’m tired off listening to him Tired of being abused I use to think he had no control Use to think he was confused But now I know better He’s messed up in the head I can’t put up with it anymore One of us needs to be dead The door flies open He walks in with a twisted grin I can tell by his face He’s going to murder me at the end But now I’m in control It all depends on me I control our futures It depends on what I see I pull out the gun Slowly at first Then anger sweeps through me I feel like I’m going to burst Finally there’s fear in his eyes And relief in mine The clock is getting slower Now is the time I pull the trigger And at the bang he turns blue It takes a moment for him to notice That my aim was true I hit the floor hard The fall takes my last breath And finally I’m free I smile at my death |