A Child Called 'It'


I curl up against the stone floor,
My head facing the spinning floor,
I quiver in my old, torn cotton knickers,
As I try to control the flashback flickers.
I shake uncontrollably with ultimate fear,
As I concentrate for what I don’t want to hear.
I jerk onto my knees with the door still in sight,
To blow my wheezing onto my candle light.
My endless tears stream down my face,
As I day-dream, into an abuse-free place.
Suicide theories run through my head,
What can I do with my old, army-cot bed?
I glance around driven with pain.
‘A child called ‘It’ is my only known name.
I hear her bawl, I’ll repeat this in five,
That’s if my willpower can help me survive.

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