Trigger Warning!
Talks of abuse



I pack my memories up in a suitcase, a baggage of regrets.
You stole a heart, and I've been clueless,
my bruised skin looks more like self hate,
this twisted knife is never his mistakes

“Mom! your son's killer, oh how I hate him”
This ring don't mean much when I'm bruising, these ugly cries are my losing,
nice guys don't show their fist to the weaken soul, nor step on broken glass to prove a point to all,
I'm no daughter in this house, just an in-law to the...