I still remember the way you first looked at me.
The way you touched me, the words you said.
I believed you.
But boy was I wrong.
You told me it would be okay.
You told me not to worry, as you placed a fucking knife to my throat.
I plead and screamed, but no one was there.
No one could hear me.
Why couldn’t anyone hear me?
And once you were finished, you just left me there to die.
But why?
I trusted you, yet here I lie helpless wishing I was dead.
I went to my friends, even my own family, in search for answers.
But no one believed me, not even my own god damn mom.
Why does no one believe me?
Why does no one care?
How can you not see these bruises?
Fucking look!
Or what about the fucking scars that I’m left to look at from a night I’d hope to soon forget?
Or how insecure I\'ve now become, because I can’t even look my own father in the eyes without seeing him.
Yet society just looks at me as another statistic, another “hopeless victim” when in the end its just no one gives a shit.
So now I just lay here dead inside contemplating my life.
Is tomorrow worth it?
Is my life really of any worth?
But one specific question continues to consume my thoughts over the rest.
Why me?