Mysteries of my monster.

Happy birthday to me – happy birthday to me.
My present? A monster.

I wore my present on my skin.
I showed my present to my liver.
Trying to release it, I cried my present until I drowned.
It didn’t work. Nothing has worked.
I would have much rather drowned that night.

I don’t even know your last name. You never knew mine.
You were sweet to me; you told me I was pretty.
You wished my a happy birthday, you put your arm around me.
You offered to walk me to my room. Your offer put me into my grave.
I’ll never get her back, the young stranger I once was.
She left with you – she’s just a distant memory.

I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t feel.
It’s still hard to believe it’s true.
Those last words fill my head; I feel them running through my veins.
They are battery acid.

I didn’t kick nor did I scream.
I lacked the strength I used to be proud of.
I just shut my eyes, counted the minutes until it was all done.
I refused to open them until I heard that door slam -
Until I heard the surrounding sounds, telling me I was safe.

I blame myself. I should have never trusted a soul.
I should have never trusted such a monster.
But happy birthday to me – happy birthday to me.

I used to ask why. I used to wonder why he chose me.
I promised to never trust again – it’s easy to hold true.
I’m became just another mark in his little black book.

Chicago holds truths no one will ever know.