BEHIND THE CURTAINED FAIRY-TALE
“I want a home”, she said.
“I want a place to rest my head.
Somewhere that’s warm and dry.
Somewhere I can go and hide.”
“Away from the jackals, vultures and dragons.
Safe from the drugs, the pimps, and the cops.
The lying and cheating, and wanting to die.”
As she’s forced to have sex for the millionth time.
Befriended and groomed outside the school gate.
At 14 years old, her fate was set.
Given things she wanted, told she was loved.
The ‘boyfriend’ she longed for, became the family she’d lost.
Her trust being bought, with drugs as the cosh.
The control soon increased, and the doors became locked.
As dependency took over, the violence got worse.
Every day became the same, until her freedom was lost.
In an ordinary street, row upon row,
with neighbours next door that nobody knows.
Hidden from vision, behind closed doors,
unaware of the person that existed before.
Locked in a bedroom, curtains shut tight,
with shadows moving past, through the day and at night.
Dreading a shape stopping, with a knock on the door,
as the next filthy man enters, to abuse her once more.
Surrounded by the stench of yesterday’s sweat,
the stale tobacco breath engulfing her face.
Groping her body, scratching and tearing.
Slapping, squeezing, biting and hitting.
The bruises on her body will eventually fade,
but the thoughts that still haunt her,
will keep her imprisoned in a cell with no key.
Far away from the paradise, she so longs to be.
Imagining a hideaway, where she can chose when to get up,
when to go to bed, and who she might fuck.
A place where the sun can fall on her face,
without looking over her shoulder, with fear and regret.
Letting the rain, drench her soul so clean,
washing the blood away from the blows to her skin.
Closing her eyes, she is dreaming again,
about a fantasy land so different to this.
A fairy-tale story, in search of a Prince,
to save her from this hell, confined in a tower,
with nowhere to go.
No hero, climbing her hair or kissing her lips.
No crossing her fingers, and making a wish.
No asking the good witch for her dreams to come true.
No happy ever after, as midnight chimes,
and the fantasy is through.
To drown out the screams from above and below,
she sings so sweetly, her childhood songs.
Remembering the days before she descended to hell,
before those she loved left her, and her castle walls fell.
With a violent thump on the locked bedroom door.
Took too long to answer, so smashed to the floor.
Strangled to an inch of her last life-giving breath.
Waking up later with a bruised and bloodied face.
Sitting alone, life draining away,
with so little energy to hope for a happier day.
But will those that pass by her curtained windows today,
when seeing the shadows behind and the shapes on display,
ever wonder about the story within?
The true-life fairy-tale, of the forgotten girl that still sings.
Copyright: Gordon Warren (2014)
“I want a home”, she said.
“I want a place to rest my head.
Somewhere that’s warm and dry.
Somewhere I can go and hide.”
“Away from the jackals, vultures and dragons.
Safe from the drugs, the pimps, and the cops.
The lying and cheating, and wanting to die.”
As she’s forced to have sex for the millionth time.
Befriended and groomed outside the school gate.
At 14 years old, her fate was set.
Given things she wanted, told she was loved.
The ‘boyfriend’ she longed for, became the family she’d lost.
Her trust being bought, with drugs as the cosh.
The control soon increased, and the doors became locked.
As dependency took over, the violence got worse.
Every day became the same, until her freedom was lost.
In an ordinary street, row upon row,
with neighbours next door that nobody knows.
Hidden from vision, behind closed doors,
unaware of the person that existed before.
Locked in a bedroom, curtains shut tight,
with shadows moving past, through the day and at night.
Dreading a shape stopping, with a knock on the door,
as the next filthy man enters, to abuse her once more.
Surrounded by the stench of yesterday’s sweat,
the stale tobacco breath engulfing her face.
Groping her body, scratching and tearing.
Slapping, squeezing, biting and hitting.
The bruises on her body will eventually fade,
but the thoughts that still haunt her,
will keep her imprisoned in a cell with no key.
Far away from the paradise, she so longs to be.
Imagining a hideaway, where she can chose when to get up,
when to go to bed, and who she might fuck.
A place where the sun can fall on her face,
without looking over her shoulder, with fear and regret.
Letting the rain, drench her soul so clean,
washing the blood away from the blows to her skin.
Closing her eyes, she is dreaming again,
about a fantasy land so different to this.
A fairy-tale story, in search of a Prince,
to save her from this hell, confined in a tower,
with nowhere to go.
No hero, climbing her hair or kissing her lips.
No crossing her fingers, and making a wish.
No asking the good witch for her dreams to come true.
No happy ever after, as midnight chimes,
and the fantasy is through.
To drown out the screams from above and below,
she sings so sweetly, her childhood songs.
Remembering the days before she descended to hell,
before those she loved left her, and her castle walls fell.
With a violent thump on the locked bedroom door.
Took too long to answer, so smashed to the floor.
Strangled to an inch of her last life-giving breath.
Waking up later with a bruised and bloodied face.
Sitting alone, life draining away,
with so little energy to hope for a happier day.
But will those that pass by her curtained windows today,
when seeing the shadows behind and the shapes on display,
ever wonder about the story within?
The true-life fairy-tale, of the forgotten girl that still sings.
Copyright: Gordon Warren (2014)
