There are some wounds that can never heal,
Scars that make us who we are, without them we don’t exist,
A woman, love is too small a word for what she felt for her little girl,
All words fail,
holding her was like feeling the sun from both sides…
She still had the horror there’d be no feuds
She lay her by the fire, piled the coal up high,
One night it was so cold, she was crying,
Not cries of teething..
She can see herself Lying there on the streets,
Too weak to get up, too weak to die,
Why wouldn’t she just get up… It was all she had to do, just get up!
Get the fucking up!
It was white when she woke…
The cold was dust, her little girl cold as ice..
She died, her poor little girl..
Her name was Sarah,
Child born and raised by a whore,
Loved and cherished by a whore,
Died in the snow because a man so ruthless and one too easy a monster,
Had made her mother weak one stroke at a time,
One blow at a time…
Her mother, a whore, human none the less, capable of love..
Sarah, little angel… Undeserving of death…
Gone with the night reigning nothing but sorrow,
Not so willingly yet again with not much of a choice,
Reigned years of pain on her mother, her whore of a mother, a human none the less!!
Turned into a savage,
Monsters are made,
Pains of life, the losses, these we should dread.
