It never made sense till now
and the sense I've made makes no sense at all.
If I should say the truth I hope it be opaque
'cause I can't stand myself or the perils left unscathed.
But would she really pull the hairs right out of my head?
"Don't touch my sister," he said.
Our childhood came and left a bruise
like the made-up games we'd always lose.
And like the time we found her on the bathroom floor
the broken bottle spilled a thousand lies,
but the body sprawled hadn't said much more.
I all but heard her sheepish cry, so innocent sadistic.
The moment after, still and silent, I almost miss it.
I felt a tear rip through my cheek
as her nails ripped through my skin.
"Don't touch my sister," he said
so she locked the door instead.
I can't help but think what I've already thought.
That day on the bathroom floor, I wish she would've died.
That sheepish cry was heard for years' time.
May you hate without a reason
while I hate the reason itself.
But did she get what she deserved?
Did I get what she deserved?
To gratify this may seem malicious
but it's all in compromise.
Who knew death could save a life.
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