Red marks on my arm where your hands have gripped. Tightly, hands clenched. Thrown onto the floor. Back laying down. Voices, your voice yelling. Screaming. Growing louder each second. I try to get up pushing myself but arms are too weak. You bend down and shove me back. You grab a pillow and cover my face. Cover my mouth, cover my nose. My lungs tighten. Gasping for air. I try to push you away but arms are still sore. Stop this pain. Kill me already. I don’t want to suffer. My tears raining down my cheek. Please….
electricpogostickThis was a very good article. I'm worried about you, maybe you should call social services or the police.
I know i should but now that im almost 15 i have found ways to avoid her.
yeah, but you still have 3 more years with her. no one should have to live like that.
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