The sun does not shine,
The moon does not glow,
The flowers do not bloom,
And the grass does not grow.
All there is is darkness,
I shall never see,
The sun will always refuse,
To shine down on me.
All I am is broken,
Like a misused toy,
Sad and sorry for myself,
It always brings you joy.
Or is it because you’re angry,
You know I am never fed,
I sit alone in fear,
While thoughts run through my head.
Maybe tomorrow it won’t hurt as much,
Maybe tomorrow you won’t come home,
Maybe tomorrow I’ll be free from your clutch,
Maybe tomorrow you’ll leave me alone.
I hear your footstep outside my room,
And I cower behind a chair,
You fling the door open next to me,
And pull me out by my hair.
You lash out and strike me,
Though I cannot see you,
I know its coming,
It’s what you always do.
An hour passes then it is over,
I vaguely hear you slam the door,
Every inch of me is hurting,
As I lie upon the floor.
You come back for more,
“What have I done? ” I cry,
You throw me in fury against the wall,
“Everything! ” comes the reply.
I lie sprawled on the carpet,
In a motionless heap,
It is over forever now,
Because you murdered me.
Maybe tomorrow it won’t hurt as much,
Maybe tomorrow you won’t come home,
Maybe tomorrow I’ll be free from your clutch,
Maybe tomorrow you’ll leave me alone.
Chloe Smith
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/maybe-tomorrow-3/