There is no one here to call whenever  the thunder rattles my windows.
The lightening no longer strikes my house, because you said I did not deserve the brightness.

And I suppose I could have been honest from the start,
but your fingers were shoved so far down my throat,
you ripped out my vocal cords
whenever I pushed you off of my shaky bed.

When you hit the ground,
you shattered my glasses.
And I should say *******,
because you took away my ability to see through your facade.

And no matter how hard your words bruised me,
I kept writing them onto our life,
because I was choking on the dream of exploring the world with you.

No one though to tell me that Earth
does NOT consist of a bottle of *****
and a bright hand mark across my face.