I am the only one left.

I am the only one left, at the end of the fight.

Past your drunken Friday night.

That really remembers and feels the insults,

That are later etched into my burning skin,

That moments later will release a near frozen blood stream.

I am the only one left, at the end of the night.

That remembers the yelling of a drunken man.

“****.” “Evil.” “Hate Her.”

These words sting I know, as they hit my mothers face,

And slip under my door.

And yet not a word comes out of her mouth.

Because there is no point in fighting a drunken man.

Because when the sun shines the next morning, and father is sobering,

The fight is forgotten,

Until.

Until there is yet another night,

Like this one.

For each shot thrown back,

And each cigarette put out,

There is a hurtful word,

“****.” “Evil.” “Hate Her.”

“****.” “Evil.” “Hate Her.”

After all of it I say,

And say over,

And over again,

I do not care.

I will be the only one,

Who has left.

I will be the only one,

Who has left.