Intrusive Thoughts

From asylum to asylum I never seem to change,

Whether it is a shotgun to my head,

Or to that bully from fifth grade,

I am a pressure cooker full of rage.

No longer, No more,

My trust in you is gone,

I don't want to stab my mother,

Yet that is all you show me,

I gave you my all,

What did I get in return?

27 stitches and blood-covered hands,

That blood stain will never go away you son-of-a-bitch.

I am okay.

I am okay.

I resisted and my mother is okay.

Broken as I am,

I am in control,

Not you!