So who visited you
in your childhood bed?
-The old man in red
or the woman with wings?
Or perhaps other unearthly things.
Or maybe the villains
who arrived at night
after Dad turned off the light
explain why you're so traumatised
and everyone had to sympathise.
I know a girl who uses razors
the same as you,
suffers from nightmares like you do,
ladder rungs right up her arms,
nail marks deep into her palms.
She also had visitors,
but hers were very, very real.
She had something for the thieves to steal.
Although she has power over the pain,
she will never ever feel safe again.
You saw Mum with another man,
your Dad wasn't there enough.
And your area's a little bit rough,
his Mum and her Dad are incurable,
but we have no right at all.
We have no right at all
and should be ashamed
of the sympathy we've claimed,
when she carries with her a personal hell,
an unending hurt, a bottomless well.