Those nights I would hear the door creak
Nights I would helplessly shriek
Nights that left me completely weak
Those nights of things I must not speak.
Those mornings you acted as though things were okay
Mornings I hated you for such display
Mornings I thought of getting away
Those mornings I silently prayed for your doomsday.
These days I look in the mirror
My reflection is that of a child stricken with terror
These days I wish I could erase the errors
Caused by the days of my childhood horror.