Hatred was more important to her
than me being a father.
If she couldn't control my life she
had no reason to be bothered.

For all the good things I offered there
was always something wrong.
Her ideals of having good times
involved the use of knives, sticks
and stones.

Keeping quiet because of the child
I thought it would be best.
The child turned out to be more of a
reason for mom to care even less.

Terror was buried deep inside of my
soul but it had to stay hidden.
I knew that my child was being
used as a tool for bidding.

If I wouldn't give in to the abuse
or pretend to be happy and nice.
Storms of abusive behavior would  
arise without the abuser ever
thinking twice.

A self inflicted separation came
by the end of the day.
A lost child forever used to settle
the score for me walking away.