Don't look back, don't look back. Don't realize you have to come here again; don't realize this is your cage and prison, the place where you will pace forever. Never look back. Run down the broken stairs, the worn carpet, the stains from spilt alcohol dark on the rug and the dishes piled high in the sink. Don't look back. Don't see him in the chair in front of the TV, blaring; don't see the bottles of whiskey littering the ground and vodka perfuming the air. Don't think about the hole in your jeans, the state of your hair, the way your jacket no longer fits you, and how your shirt is too large for you, and how your ribs jut out, and how your stomach cries for nourishment. Wait to tend to your body when you get to school, wait until you can get the meager lunch they provide, wait until then…
And then you hear him, thundering toward you, his shout, his drunken anger, the slur in his voice. You feel the air stirred as a bottle in thrown past you, smashing against the torn and dirty wallpaper, falling and clattering into so many little pieces. You feel his rough hands grab you and force you to face him, feel the sting of his fist across your shoulder as you fall and lay sprawled against those wooden floors. Don't cry; fight back the tears as you scramble for your back pack, backing away from the man whose blood you share. Back away from his crazed eyes and pointless shouting and from the control he knows he has over you.
"I have to go to school…" You whisper as you back out of the door of your house, still aware of him shouting your name and curses against you, telling you what you already know: that you are worthless and trash, lower than dirt, and that you don't deserve to live. Those realizations echo within you as you run, running from one prison to the next, trapped within this world of bitterness and without a clue as to how to make it all end.
And don't look at all the happy faces, and close yourself to all the concerned voices, and don't let anyone realize what has happened and who you really are. You've escaped from the Prison of Pain to the Prison of Lies, where if anyone discovers or suspects you will hide and explain away anything they may think. There's nothing wrong with you, or at least nothing you didn't bring upon yourself. Feed here upon other's stories, upon the tales of those who live without a broken home. Discuss what everyone else fears and you don't care about. Move on, move on…walk on through your day and get it over with, so tomorrow you can start all over and begin the same routine. Move along, move along…try not to remember what you can't forget, and try not to ask yourself why he hates you, and why he's angry, and what you did to deserve this. Try to forget it all. Live your half life, your martyred life, your murdered love, and don't think about what he did to others before you. Don't think about what happened the month before, and how you can never prove it. The police said she had killed herself, the bruises were self inflicted, but you know the truth. You will always know the truth, and the truth is dangerous, so forget the truth. Always forget the truth, and keep running and hiding like the child you are…
No, be strong. Grow up and hold your head high, and mask your pain from the world. It's not the world's problem, only your own.