Invisible White-Out

you sit at the bottom of the stairs and think, "well then"
victimizing yourself yet again
pick up a pen and
write away your tears because
 bobby's not coming back this time
and daddy's gonna hit you again
and momma's got a drinking habit
and sister's got your favorite dress.

And you sit at the bottom of momma's bottle,
and you cry onto daddy's fists,
and you wipe your tears on the dress,
that you looked so pretty on your first date with Bobby.

Sitting on the bottom stoop,
with your tounge hung up by a noose,
and your words chocking on the ink,
as you jot them all down.
Jotting them down so you don't have them
piled up mile high in your cranium,

And they flow out of your ears,
listening to your tears,
and fall onto the paper,
and wash away the invisible white-out
of words you want to say,
but don't say,
and never will say,
because you can't say,
what you need to say.

All you say is "Sorry".