Gone

My name is Sarah,

I am only 8.

Nobody cares,

about my fate.

My mom is a druggie,

my father: A drunk.

One day they'll kill me,

I'm just a piece of junk.

I'm black and blue,

Everyday of my life,

I don't go to school,

Because of that I pay a price.

I can't read,

Nor can I write.

I only bleed,

and cry at night.

On Friday I am free,

From the pain.

They leave,

to the bar on Bobby's lane.

I lay on the couch,

Tending to my wounds,

When the door opens with a pound,

And they barge into the room.

Father grabs me by the hair,

Mother smacks me,

With her bottle of beer.

Father kicks me,

Mother laughs.

Why do they hate me,

I silently ask.

Why doesn't daddy love me?

Why won't mommy hug me?

Will they miss me when I'm dead?

Will they even feel bad?

I'm thrown down the stairs,

Hitting ever step on the way.

I land with a thud at the bottom.

My head bleeding,

And my body sore.

I knew my time had come,

And I would be no more.

I hear the sirens,

they are getting louder.

"Your under arrest for murder!" Police. "Of who?" Parents.

"Your poor daughter."

They lift my body, lightly breathing.

"She is alive!" mother shouts.

"She is going to die."

A doctor replies.

"She's lost to much blood, and her ribs are against her heart."

"You've done some serious damage..how could you?"

Maybe someone does care, maybe.

I was lost sometime,

on the way to the hospital.

I couldn't see anymore,

and I could hear my faint heart beat,

I could hear the doctors, and police...cry.

"She was only 8,

How could this be her fate?"

Then my heart slowed more,

to a beat so slow, my body so sore.

Then there was none,

and my eyes shot open,

in shock,

a big gasp of breath,

and then I lay...

Gone