I lie awake on the floor,
Hoping he won't open the door.
Fear zip-lining through my spine,
My courage not willing to climb.
My memory spins,
As he would slowly lift my chin.
Doing it as if a trend.
Listening for his deep breath,
Stained with the death of meth.
My heart beating faster,
Not willing myself for another disaster.
Left eye still stitched up,
After telling the doctor it was a wood-shop cut.
"You disgusting whore,
Get to the floor!"
He would always holler,
As if I were an animal wearing a collar.
Looking out my caged windows,
Wishing I could hide away in my pillow.
Hoping he's gone,
Hoping, this one time, I'm not wrong.
As a car pulls in,
I picture the man lifting my chin.
Copyright © Matt Daniels