Lost At Sea

My older sister tortured me,

upon my sides she would prick me,

with needles, pins and what she'd see.

The wounds were explicitly,

the character of pain.

Sharp instruments,

with noise I'd see,

no name is what they did call me.

You changed our life,

and we're not free,

your fault, your birth,

and then I'd scream.

Their faces used to really

scare me.

In night and day,

in fright, in bay

they'd lay,

in very tight display.

It's all your fault,

you caused this vault,

don't speak assault,

or you will know default.

By hand and barrel,

Lost at Sea.

K.A.P.

6/8/2009