My momma went to Paris
She danced near the Eiffel Tower
She shopped at L'Oreal
She walked through the streets of the City of Lights

My daddy waited for his wife to come back from
dancing near the tower
shopping at L'Oreal
walking through the streets.

My sister, a waitress in a quaint Texas town
Waiting for the woman she adored to come back
to their little town.

But momma never came back.
She found a better life
dancing near the Eiffel Tower
shopping at L'Oreal
walking through the streets of the City of Lights.

Every step he takes towards me, I take two steps back
But it’s not long until my back’s against the wall,
And I have nowhere to go.
His breath reeks of alcohol
His hands are running up my body,
Up to my face and my hair.
I shove his hands away from my hair, sickened at the slimy feel of him against my skin.
I’ve kept it short, and it’s the only part of me that is left,
Untouched,
By the filth of him.
The only thing that is still mine.
I see his fist rushing toward me,
And I swing my head
So his fist crashes loudly, painfully, into the wall.
He howls.
Blows land on my cheeks, my shoulders, my jaw, my arm.
I fall to the ground,
Like a helpless rag doll,
Waiting for someone to pick me up.
He’s there, on top of me, yanking my hair, hands swinging on my body.
“Please. Stop. I’m sorry. Stop, please!” I beg, at his mercy once again.
I’m surprised when he does.
“If you did what I tell you, I wouldn’t have to beat you like this. If you would have just let me touch you,  
It wouldn’t have come to this. I love you, baby. You know I do. I would never let anything happen to you.  
You know I won’t,” he croons into my ear.
As his calloused hands caress my swollen jaw, and his sweet, toxic words pierce my heart, I think back to  
The early days of stolen kisses,
And gentle love, and I am once again reminded of the man I fell in love with.
The one who stood on the altar, who swore to love and cherish me, to never let me go,
And I believe him.

Infinity passes by in the
tick-tock off the clock.
Our eyes bounce off everything
but each other.
It's like we can't remember the time
when we'd rather talk about us all night,
where our breaths mingled together, trying to discover all they could of each other in their fractions of existence.
But I wonder.
If our future
never approaches anything,
not today
not tomorrow
not in years,
then what proof do we have that it really exists?

Sometimes I wonder,
Was I supposed to stay?

Don't you see?
Don't you see why the stars no longer come out at night?
Don't you see why dreamers have gone sleep and awoken and cynics?
Don't you see why the moon despairs upon its palace among the stars?
It's because you.
Your inability to love,
to give,
to wonder.
You did this.
The love of Romeo and Juliet curse you.
For you are no son of love