Coughing… Am I dying?
I told my stepfather I was sick, but he thought I was lying.
I wish my mom were still alive.
I wish I’d steal his car and go to a clinic, but I can’t drive
I can’t tell anyone; I don't even have a phone
And I'm trapped inside; I can’t go outside; I'm a prisoner in a place called home.
I only breathe fresh air absorbed by his clothes when he’s outside the house.
I only get access to his clothes every night when he gets to treat me like his spouse.
At least his bed has comfort.
But I want to cry whenever he places his thighs on my butt
At least I don’t get to sleep on the floor
But deep inside, I wish police officers would just bang on his door
I'm just a pill he drinks whenever he feels down
He only loves me at night; I'm his nightgown
As I wake up the following day feeling like a prostitute housewife
And I always think of ending the pain by cutting my throat with a knife
But why should I kill myself if I can just poison his food?
He screams in pain as I smile, knowing he will be gone for good.
I'm still locked in a lion's den, but at least there's no lion to eat me.
And I regret killing it because it used to feed me.
I'm a puppet that lost its owner
And I play on my own now
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