Every time you ask me a question I nod my head,

I’d rather be lying than dead.

“Do you believe in god, are your priorities straight?”

Stop treating me like I’m eight.

Every time you say “I love you” Is it really true?

Or am I dreaming of normal parents,

A better version of you.

The yelling is constant and won’t stop.

All the daggers you stabbed me with are sharp.

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