I wanna talk about the pretty girl

who seems to have it good

two loving siblings
parents whose rings are still wrapped plainly around their fingers
a quaint home sitting on Lilac Lane overlooking the woods
modern clothes, silky hair, and fresh makeup
envelop the secrets beneath

I wanna talk about the amber liquid

that fuels the fiend in her father
causing her ears to ache
heart attempting to escape from her chest.
The sharp sound of the slap rips at her soul.

I wanna talk about thumping footsteps running downstairs
knuckles against flesh
lies being spat out like gunfire
bruises being left externally and internally.

I wanna talk about fresh red stains on soft carpet
the black streams that flow down her sister’s beautiful face
vulnerability at its paramount.
You could almost see the debris
of crushed faith, promises of alteration
freely swimming in tainted air.

I wanna talk about the resemblance in her little brother’s stance
how it makes her skin prickle with anxiety, his
natural instinct to protect his sisters and mother
overpowered the lectures
of how this repetitive abusive cycle has to stop with him

Lights dance around the street.
Fists pound against wood.
Metal locks around wrists.
Compassionate pens stain white paper.
imploring cries of melancholy that try and fail

I wanna talk about the four people
left sitting silent
in the quaint house on Lilac lane
whose uneasy eyes stare out to the woods
wondering wishing and asking why
why can’t he ever change?