I wonder, at times, if you regret.
Perhaps you wish you hadn't woken up in time
To catch a swinging hammer as it whistled through the air
And subsequently saved my life.

Do you wish you'd told him one time less
Not to **** me as you walked away, swaddled in blankets?
From that filthy scene, from his hands wrapped around my neck
From my strangled gasps as I fought to breathe.

Do you regret defying your doctor's warning?
He'd told you, your first pregnancy was a miracle, be satisfied
Do you wish you'd simply nodded and taken that to heart
Went home with your first baby and followed his advice?

Do you ever believe his words: there's something in me that must be beaten out?
You kept me from death despite all my tries, the whole while telling me to go
You firmly believed I should live, if only to assuage your guilt
Do you wish, just once, you'd told me "yes" instead of "no"

Do you wish you'd let me go?









I do.

I am happy in life and with the people I know
But I am not happy with you
I wouldn't go back for the world, wouldn't change a thing
But I'd never begrudge it of you.

If you went back, would you erase me, the stain on what could've been family?
Would you rip me from your perfect life and beg forgiveness for being cruel?
Or would you decide to, once again, not be my savior or mother?
With all due respect, if you would, you're a fool.