A tear drips onto a memory book,
oh how I wish I could return to the past,
fix every thing I know I messed up,
mend shredded wounds before they occur,
prevent disasters I should have seen coming.

None of that is important now,
my own faults behind me;
It's the good times I want to return to,
just to be there in those happy feelings again,
the times before the dark clouds settled and bred.

Back when mommy was always happy and funny,
beaming while singing Michael Jackson,
her pretty red hair usually in a bun,
reading in crazy voices to my sister and I,
always singing "You Are My Sunshine" before I slept.

Back when daddy still loved mommy,
while smiling and mowing the lawn,
letting me help him plant flowers in our garden,
his eyes I inherited shining when we laughed,
always helping me with the hard stuff like rounding numbers.

Back when my sister thought life was fantastic,
a grin forever engraved on her baby doll face,
playing dolls, fairies, princesses, ball,
leaping around the so-tall flowers,
eternally a child of youth and joy.

I could have been a better child,
could have kept everyone together,
could have prevented all of this disaster,
could have seen what I was doing to them all;
Now it's far too late.

Now mommy and I are always fighting,
stalking to our separate corners of the house,
she dyed her hair blonde, wears too much makeup,
we don't sing much anymore, or talk, or laugh,
the marks of sleepless nights haunt her face.

Now daddy drinks more beer than water,
he ran off with the gorilla girl, so mommy and him aren't together,
sees us on the weekends, seeming so happy without responsibility,
making sarcastic jokes and jabs about our mother,
pretending our problems don't exist anymore.

Now sister comes home crying,
she doesn't want to keep seeing days,
she hums the songs of our childhood to herself at night,
goes to bed to avoid all the chaos,
a miserable blank replacing the glowing smile.

Now nobody is smiling,
or at least, nobody means it,
nobody is happy,
because nobody can even fake it.

Our dreams of having a better life,
have smashed into the ground,
our hopes and wishes burned to death,
at the new reality we have found.

Now all the pieces are cracked and shattered,
there is no glue that could put us back together,
no kind words or songs of apology,
no magic that can change this stormy weather.

In the middle of the night, I sit and I write,
I could type all day with my things to say,
coming from a family now wanting to **** me,
for doing what I didn't know I could do.