Like a Drug Addict, Babe

tell me. how many times
is it probable that you 'just' ran into a door?
those big blue bruises on your shoulder
never go away and you expect me to believe
everything will be fine.

the little lies you've told,
assured I wouldn't ever find out
how home life has been.
well. I can tell you now
things get around and back again.

yeah, I know you probably don't want
to think about the pain all the time.
but, right now, right here, in this reality,
something has got to be done.
is there anyone who will take action?

could it be that we are too afraid
of the consequences that come along
with this junk stuck in our minds?
what is the harm in saying something
to ease this burden you have inflicted?

have you considered that watching you
nearly crawl through the door every day
has been tearing me apart as well as yourself?
it's like a drug addict, babe.
everyone says they're just a bomb waiting to explode.

that new ring of black beneath and above
your eye tells a story beyond all stories.
please, girl, oh please.
tell me this isn't the reality you've chosen to accept,
these lies and these broken lives with this ticking bomb.

the never ending fights you've endured and the
countless shattered plates, the broken window
you mentioned. coincidentally, the very night
your mom screamed 'why don't you just leave',
an angry neighbor put a brick through the glass.

so, you see? this has got to come to an end.
but so far, neither you nor i have seen
an ending to this tragic Fairy Tale.
how can you possibly
embrace this nightmare in the making?

baby, this bomb is ticking
and, clearly, we can take no more.
this pressure, this undying pressure,
in the back of your freakin mind
has got to get out there.

please, please, oh please girl,
this has got to end. the ticking and
big black bruises, these shattered plates
and coincidental bricks. just don't tell me
how you ran into a door again.