Locking my door before escaping to a blanket fortress
where a Gameboy waits beneath my pillow
helping me ignore the calamity from the rooms beyond.

Mother’s second husband,
whose fingernails find purchase in her neck
draining the stars from her veins.

Transparent and plastic, I tremble
tracing the shapes over and over unaware
that I am holding the last piece of my youth in my hands.

A desperate yell escapes
from beneath intoxicated hands
lumbering shadow blocks the only light in my home.

Confronting this enemy as my mother cries
knowing the night has left me bruised
the same atomic purple.