Raised in the farmlands away from the modern technology and urban buildings/
A distant home in the middle of nowhere... isolated from robberies, murders, killings/
Had a twin sister named Emma: she was my only friend in the stretches of grass fields, see/
Both of us had only each other for comfort; it would sometimes give me sad feelings/
Our mom had passed away giving birth to us; our dad was a major drug addict/
Unstable physically and mentally... would break shit and never know what happened/
Could barely pay the house mortgage so we couldn't go to school; working crops/
To support our poor lifestyle; dad never worked... we were stuck in a burning pot/
One afternoon, we had laid down our farm tools and leaned against the barn tiredly/
Heard our dad call for us... went inside and I saw my dad's crazy eyes that desired me/
High as fuck of course, but only hearing demons inside his druggy mind/
Ripped my farm clothes off in a wild motion and had me fucked... I cried/
Emma was next and without brief hesitation, throwing me to the ground in shame/
Had my sister's virginity ripped in shreds like paper and she was pounded the same/
As night fell, we sobbed in misery in each others arms; tears flooded the floor/
Wished we lived another life... probably hell would be better; we're muddy and torn/
The horrible raping continued for weeks on straight... we couldn't let this continue/
Plotted against our drunk and high father for many long nights to stop this "fun" abuse/
The day came when, in a streak of unexplained anger, our dad beat us 'till we bled/
Kitchen floor blotched with streaks of blood... hurt like hell so we both fled/
Across the fields of poppy and the golden waves of corn, we ran in terror and sour fear/
Cocaine does a lot to a sane man; made our only parent not see his error and our tears/
Made it probably a mile or two away from our little farmhouse and we sure did stop/
Furious as hell, we discussed our plan, and headed back quickly, but with a nervous trot/
After walking for a brief while, I looked around and didn't see Emma/
Where the hell had she gone in the minute or two... I was fed up/
And yelled "Forget it, I'll handle this on my own..." and finished the stroll back home.../
Made it back in an hour or so; the house was silent as the grave and pitch black/
Lights all off... I grabbed the sickle I had took from the warehouse; heard a "tick-tack"/
Sounded like scraping; opening the front door it gave a creak and entered/
Blood covering the walls and furniture; fuck... my dad was a freak and centered/
In the middle of the living room, a knife tearing up my deceased sister's body apart/
Torn-open lungs and kidneys seemingly everywhere; he looked up and caught me afar/
Smiled sickly and lunged for me with the knife outstretched; stabbed and missed/
I had jumped out of the way, raising the sickle to give him a long goodnight kiss/
Gave a twisted chuckle and sprinted towards me with eyes redder than Satan/
Barely had time to dodge; the sickle clattered to the ground... I almost fainted/
Instinctively, he picked the sickle up and shook his head at his cornered prey/
Couldn't believe Emma was dead... I was alone in hell and yes, I sure did pray/
Asked "Why'd you kill my sister" His eyes became confused... "You never had a sibling"/
The world flipped sideways with his knife still at my throat; my blood dripping/
Living a fucked-up life... raped alone... no friends... talking to someone who never existed/
A drunk dad... no mother... alone in this dark farmhouse... fuck, the world was ever twisted/
Anger built up like the devil's furnace and my dad's hands were slightly more gentle/
Kicked him as fucking hard as I could with new-found extra power, body and mental/
Looked again at the cut-up body... it was the figure of my ten-year dead mother/
Then at my dad, who's eyes had lost its crimson... fuck that faggot; never loved her/
Grabbed the sickle from his hands roughly and brought it down with vengeance/
Blood splattered the room like paint and from his broken neck I spotted a pendant/
Read it: "Rest in peace, Mary"... my mother was named Mary; I tossed it away/
Stuck the sickle in his dead body like a victory flag and, hands in pockets, walked away/
FEEDBACK WOULD BE MUCH APPRECIATED... As usual, a focus on story-telling than complex rhyme schemes. The ending kind of signifies her change in personality, by the way.
