You’ll only have one,
just one, and that’s it.

                                                            ­                            No, I don’t want it,
                                                             ­                                 I’m done, I quit!

Of course you want it,
cmon, only one.
Besides, you’re much funnier,
and way more fun.

                                                           ­                        I know that’s not true,
                                                           ­                      and it’s killing us slow.
                                                           ­               I don’t want it, please stop,
                                                           ­                                 go away, just go!

Where would I go?
Let’s not talk nonsense.
Just one drink man,
you deserve it my friend.

                                                        ­                          How can you say that?
                                                           ­                            You’re a part of me.
                                                             ­            You know one turns to two,
                                                            ­                      and two turns to three.

Nah, not this time,
this time isn’t the same.
Just have one man,
cmon, for old times.








There ya go......
How about just one more?

Such a delicate matter,
“we don’t talk about that”.
So unwilling, a feeling,
let’s ignore all the facts.

Let’s ignore the signs,
because to speak would bring truth.
It’s an out of bounds subject,
that’s strictly uncouth.

A therapist, what for?
You’re gonna be fine.
What do you mean you’re depressed?
Just have a glass of wine.

What do you mean you texted?
Of course I didn’t leave you on read.
You’re being over dramatic,
of course you’re not better off dead.

Sorry, I’ve been busy,
ya I know you wanted to talk.
Is it important?
Cause I’m going for a walk.

Haven’t heard from you in awhile,
are you doing ok?
Hello?! Are you there?!
It’s been like three days!

Ok, you’re starting to scare me,
please answer your phone.
No one can get ahold of you,
Hello? Hello?!

“Do you think you’re funny?”,
she asked with a frown.
Now I know that I’m funny,
but I’m not saying that now.

The slight hesitation,
is all that she needs.
“This is not a ******* joke”,
a statement loaded with irony.

I fight back the smile,
still not saying a word.
She crosses her arms,
and it’s all so absurd.

I finally start giggling,
when I meet her eyes,
and the pain from her slap,
is a shocking surprise.

The utter silence is thick,
and I’m lost for words,
I try to say something,
but my mouth ******* hurts.

I know it’s one of those moments,
where all could be lost,
so I compose myself,
and prepare for the cost.

I look her in the eyes,
so she knows she’s lost the fight,
and grab the last slice of pizza,
and take a huge bite.

What is loneliness?
Loneliness is a feeling,
a human emotion.

What is loneliness?
Loneliness is coming home,
and no one is there.

What is loneliness?
Loneliness is laying awake,
with no one beside you.

What is loneliness?
Loneliness is having no one,
no one to love.

What is loneliness?
Loneliness is a feeling,
a broken heart and soul.

I'm lonely...

Listen to my story,
and you might think twice before,
you proceed to judge me,
and show me to the door.

If you only knew the fear,
and the courage this took,
maybe then you would listen,
and give me a second look.

An alcoholic father,
who puts his hands on me,
is what I come home to,
everyday at three-fifteen.

A mother who blames me,
for the abuse that I recieve.
Never raising a finger,
to pack me up and leave.

A day full of insults,
as I walk through the halls,
and a foot in the aisles,
and laughter when I fall.

I never learned morals,
through all of my abuse,
nor the love of a parent,
so what is your excuse?

Does it make you feel better,
to make me feel small?
To just keep on pushing,
until I break down and bawl.

I never asked for this life,
for this heartache and shame.
I have enough problems,
without being your game.

I can cover up the bruises,
with second-hand clothes,
and I can walk with my head down,
so the guilt doesn't show.

But I can't ignore the fear,
that lives within me.
The fear of going home,
of how bad today will be.

I'm asking for help,
and for someone to stand.
For someone to listen,
and do what they can.

I understand rules,
and just how they work.
But why do the rules,
neglect someone who's hurt?

You can see all the bruises,
the scars and the burns.
Each one a lesson,
daddy thought I should learn.

So don't look at me,
as if I'm burdening you.
Because you only know a little,
of what I've been through.

I'm begging for help,
and for you to save me.
So please be my hero,
before three-fifteen.

An unordered chaos,
of catastrophic events.
Trying to find all the pieces,
and glue them back into sense.

But what if some of the pieces,
can never be found?
You're scraping the bottom,
but only digging the ground.

What if all of the voices,
that shout in your head,
never shut up,
but grow louder instead?

What if someone should notice,
that your smile is fake,
and is just a bit manic,
like a clown at a wake?

You ***** for the answers,
but the answers aren't there.
You tell everyone you're fine,
and pretend you don't care.

But then you're alone,
and the darkness creeps in.
The voices start whispering,
and you want to give in.

It's deeper than pain,
and it tears you apart.
It drives you insane,
and rips through your heart.

You can't catch your breath,
no matter how hard you try.
Like you're climbing a mountain,
and almost touching the sky.

So much blame, and shame,
infecting your thoughts.
So many memories tainted,
of the life that you sought.

It's a ruin, a wreckage,
and all you can do,
is try to stay afloat,
and pray for rescue.

My name is Elizabeth,
and you think you know me.
You've seen me every day,
since the year I turned three.

I am quiet, and reserved,
and smarter than most,
but my quiet demeanor,
turns me into a ghost.

I'm easily forgotten,
with all the ruckus and noise.
The laughing and shouting,
from the other girls and boys.

If I could speak up,
I'd tell you the truth.
I'd tell you he's lying,
about how I got this bruise.

If I wasn't so afraid,
to tell you my side,
then maybe you'd help me,
if you knew that he lied.

He says it's my fault,
that he has to teach me like this,
but I know better now,
that you don't teach with fists.

He teaches mommy too,
and she's afraid just like me,
but she still hides the marks,
so that no one will see.

I would love to make friends,
to run, laugh, and play.
But all the kids tease me,
for acting this way.

Maybe if you taught words,
like neglect, and abuse.
Then I'd know it was wrong,
and wouldn't be so confused.

But today I'll stay quiet,
just like mommy said.
Even though she was crying,
and her eyes were all red.

Daddy tells us he loves us,
that we're his princess, and queen.
But the brown bottle stuff,
makes him angry and mean.

Maybe if I took the brown bottle,
and poured it down the sink.
Then daddy would be happy,
and be able to think.

It won't hurt to try,
I'll do it after school.
Then maybe daddy can love us,
without being so cruel.

My name is Elizabeth,
and I stay out of sight.
I'm too scared to tell you,
but if you asked me, I might.