Sing

I will die of consumed anger. Of holding in so much that I killed myself, inside out. Who should I blame for this unfortunate occurrence, You?
Because you had to take your authority out, and decided I should be your favourite victim? Yes, I think you would do fine.
You did put me to sleep at night with your deafening lullabies. Your ‘shut your mouth’ sweet words.
Did you feel my hate radiating through my eyes? Probably not, I kept it all buried so deep inside, years of practicing, rehearsing every single, black night.
Couldn’t you read me? Can’t you see me? FEEL?

Keep singing our song, those deserving words:
‘Hush little baby, Die.’