This is a true story...

The fist swung through the air
and connected with my nose
The snapping of cartilage,
signaled it was broke

The blood stood frozen, for a moment,
and then began to flow
It felt like a sneeze, but red came out
instead of mucus blow

my attacker left through the door
not looking backwards
as they go

my sister helped me to the mirror,
where I saw a sight to behold
my face smeared crimson, rusty smell
made my remaining blood run cold

hemoglobin has iron, and iron has stench
made me nauseous, and my stomach clench

my heart was running wrong,
too fast, and too strong
But as I applied pressure,
the bleeding was gone

but I can still taste the wound
cuz most smell is taste
and still see the horrified
Look on my face

and that of my sister,
haunts me like a ghost
As I remember why
I was struck by those blows

My mother had hit me,
then left me to bleed

helpless and hurting
desperately in need

I hate this world, more often than not,
People say that I'm quiet, till I get around to talk

And if I tell you a story, of how I was abused
the picture is dark, not too many bright hues
But I could paint you that picture
Through lyrics and clues
of why I'm sad-angry
and how low life can stoop

My Art's all I have,
But I know there are more
More children like me
who lived through life like a chore

they are the battered
theyre the ones who turn to crime,
 to perpetuate these matters
they cant resolve in their minds

They say violence is a cycle
and I find that to be true
We pick up what we learn
and use it like our parents do

But I wanna break the cycle
Shut it down, smash to bits
stop the hurting, somehow, someway
even as I withdraw and split