“His Name Is Chris” – Poetry 

His Name Is Chris
Poetry excerpt from Demonic Lulladies.

© S.B. “LullaDIEs”

Coming home tonight I hear a cry,
Daddy wont let mommy sing a lullaby.

I’m six years old,
The night is cold.

Daddy bellows for me to go to my room,
I go, hoping to avoid my own doom.

Dishes break, curses clash,
I hope this is over fast.

Something falls against the door,
And slumps down to the floor.

I hug my favorite teddy bear,
Cause I’m so scared.

I pray all night that mommy wins,
So daddy will just leave again.

But I don’t think God is here,
I think it’s the Devil I feel near.

I can’t tell, I’m just a kid,
I only know I want him to quit.

But I can’t hear her cry anymore,
And Daddy’s still screaming “Whore!”

His name is Chris, he’s full of shit,
And he never ties his shoes.

Coming in the house,
Sneaking quiet as a mouse,

I’m eight years old and full of fear,
I understand something Evil’s here.

I don’t want Dad to see me,
He’s still watching the TV,

Mom’s not home from work yet,
Dad’s already drunk I bet.

He sees me sneaking in the hallway,
I regret coming home early this day.

He comes at me in a drunken rage,
He slaps me to the ground; begins a rampage.

Feet kicking, fists swinging, and flying spit,
He chuckles slightly as I convulse with bloody vomit,

It’s the verbal attack that bit at my core,

“You’re weak like mommy. A little whore.”

Then her car could be heard outside,

“Stay in your room or I’ll skin your hide!”

I’m thrown into my cage, and he slams the door,
Mom’s in for a beating, and punishment more.

His name is Chris, he’s full of shit,
And he drinks the Devil’s booze.

Now I’m ten, and pain is a habit,
Life is more than just traumatic.

At least I’m okay, here in my room,

My safe place… my harbor… my tomb…

I can hear the chaos outside arise,
My dreams these sounds will terrorize.

Mom purposefully keeps his attention on her,
She still tries desperately to protect her little girl.

I sit alone in the dark, and listen to Mom scream,
I don’t understand what made Dad so mean.

I realize now Mom and I are cursed,
Long ago God decided us to desert.

The shadows creep impossibly closer,
As silence falls across my enclosure.

Dad bores with torture, he goes to bed,
Leaving Mom in the living room, only half dead.

I sneak from my room to patch her up,
My way of thanking her for being so tough.

Her face is swollen, bloody, and bruised,
I promise us both we can survive this abuse.

His name is Chris, he’s full of shit,
A women’s pain keeps him amused.

I finally hit puberty at twelve years old,
Boys take notice as my figure moulds.

But Dad’s taken notice of my body too,
A torture chamber now is my room.

Late at night his hands molest,
Parts of me I’m sure you could guess.

I close my eyes, silently weeping,
Mom’s sleeping off another beating.

She protected me, endured enough.
I can give her a break, just this once.

He whispers sickly in my little ear,

“You’re such a good girl with Daddy here.

Just spread your legs, this will feel good.
Stop your crying. I’m in the mood.”

Searing pain spreads throughout my frail body,
As he grunts and thrusts his way into my tummy.

I know better than to scream or yelp,
There’s no one here who can come and help.

This Evil thing has invaded my room,
There’s no more safe harbors from my doom.

His name is Chris, he’s full of shit,
A child is property; his excuse.

I’ve hit fourteen and it’s a habit,
For Dad to fuck me like a rabbit.

Mom found out, wedding vows she betrayed,
When she took me and ran not far away.

Divorce papers were filed, a court date set,
Dad found me later and delivered a threat,

Tell the judge I want to live with him,
Or Mom will die, her body will go limp.

I broke my Mom’s heart when I stood in that room,
And told my lie. My mother looked so confused.

Now I’m a whore not only for Daddy,
But all his friends and criminal family.

The beat me, abuse me, their sexual slave,
To think it was the Devil’s fault was naive.

I know now my Dad is pure evil,
My innocent eyes were deceitful.

His friends take turns… I tried to fight…
They held me down and raped me all night.

This is my life now, it is what it is,
I don’t think I can be okay with it.

His name is Chris. He’s full of shit.
I hate this life I’m forced to rule!

Sixteen long years… I can’t take anymore,
I know exactly how to even the score.

I wait for him to come to my room,
So he can finally face his own doom.

A kitchen blade was secretly hidden,
Between the mattresses, the item forbidden.

He comes as expected, right on time,
On top of me my father drunkenly climbs.

He doesn’t bother asking, he takes what he wants,
No longer will this man’s face continue to taunt,

I penetrate him with that sharp knife,
Like he did me for so many dark nights.

Never did he think this would unfold.
The blood gushs red, his eyes grow cold.

A weight lifts from my shoulders,
Death to my childhood monster so vulgar.

The room around seems less scary,
I feel brave for once, and daring.

I call my mom to tell her of what I’ve done,
She calls the cops and tells me not to run.

His name is Chris, he’s full of shit,
And I killed that drunken fool.

Eighteen years have come and past,
And now I feel at peace at last.

I don’t even care that I sit in a cell,
It’s heaven compared to the previous hell.

I don’t get beat on, I don’t get raped,
The others respect me, the memories don’t fade.

My mom visits often, but she usually cries,
The judge was dad’s friend, he says we lie.

Mom fights the system with intense rage,
A war for Anarchy she tirelessly waged.

Petitions and protests are held each day,
Mom’s finally figured out it does no good to pray.

She’s still trying to protect her little girl,
But into the cruel world I was already hurled.

To be innocent of crime, you must be a victim,
Refuse to, somethings wrong in your cranium.

Too many tares and stitches made the fabric weak,
The system is broken, the wicked feast on the meek.

This is my life now, it is what it is,
I’m still deciding if I can be okay with it.

His name was Chris, he’s dead as shit,
But it’s like I never really killed the dude.

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