There's a bruise on my knee
from last weeks' repention
when you kicked me down the stairs
and told me to be thankful
I have food
on the floor
and a roof
over my scars, and
I must be forgiven for each tear
because drama runs deep in my veins
so that I have become
the boy who cried wolf
and you told me to apologize
for ever word
I've ever written
because it is
a waste of time
and time is precious
so we lay down on the floor
and say grace
and I try not to look at you
but I can't help but see your reflection
glaring off the knife in your hand