They come to her each night,
before she goes to sleep;
They stand before this Child,
who’s heart is frail and weak.
She knows they won't bring Love,
for it’s never entered her life;
And as she lays there trembling,
into her bed they climb.
Their hot breath she can feel,
against her tear stained face;
She is the one who loves them,
she is the one they hate.
She feels so very helpless,
as they do whatever they like;
She is their satisfaction,
this precious child of nine.
While she is being used,
to fulfill their tainted needs;
She clenches her small fist’s,
while her heart begins to bleed.
And when they are finally finished,
she watches them as they leave;
At her door they say, “We love you”,
to the child inside of me. | 
