Every night before you dream, his footsteps come your way.
CLose your eyes tight, sink down and he might go away.
The door creaks open and you hold your breath. The things he is about to do is worse than death
He sits in the corner, gets a cigarette and lights on up. Takes a drink from his glass as ice clincks in his cup.
He whispers “I know you’re awake and I don’t have much time”. Your heart stops beating because he’s about to commit a crime.
His hands slip under your covers ready to cause pain. This is all part of his sick little game.
Make a sound and it will be your last. You silently pray for the pain to pass.
Once he is done the pain goes away. But forever will the memory of the shame stay.
You start to feel trapped with no one to tell. You think this is the closest thing to a living hell.
You don’t want him to get satisfaction out of his game. Will you ever be able to stop the pain?
As you grow up the memories will remain. And you will never forget playing his little game.