Cold

Curled in a corner

There is a small figure

Her dark hair

Hides her face

/

She hears a door slam

And curls even tighter

As though she can turn

Invisible

/

her father comes home

Vodka in the air

As he searches for

His little girl

/

His booted foot lashes out

Kicks her ribs and

Calls her

Ugly names

/

She whimpers and curls

Into a tighter ball

Trying to eliminate

The pain

/

She's thrown against

A hard crumbling wall

And lays there limp

Dead.