I am the daughter, the second in line,
waiting for the utmost time.
Daddy’s been happy,
Mommy’s been mad.
While they’ve been distracted,
I’ve gotten bad.
Scars on my hips
and gloss on my lips,
smoke in my lungs
and screams on my tongue.
Depression is my roommate,
dormant since I’ve been eight.
The emptiness aches;
it roars, and I quake.
My mind creaks and creeps and crawls,
I have...
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