Stains of Red

Memories of an abusive childhood. Not for kids.

They didn't have to be
these memories I can't forget.
Things I had to see and hear,
things that left me upset.

The smell of liquor in the air,
home from drinking again.
The kids run to the closet
for evil is about to begin.

Cries heard throughout the house.
The kids know it's another fight.
Their tears they try to hold back
hoping it's not as bad as last night.

Glass shattered and voices raised.
It was over as quickly as it begun.
The slam of the door and screaming tires
let them know their time had come.

Out of their shelter to help Mom
found lying motionless on the floor.
These beatings have to stop soon
her body can't take much more.

They didn't have to be,
these memories I can't forget.
Things I had to see and hear.
Stains of red on the carpet.