Sitting on the edge of my bed,

Tear streaks and pain over my face,

I always think about it,

How it use to be,

To woe that someone died,

Died inside, with an empty shell inside.

I use to laugh and play, go outside,

Going for a walk to the old country store,

While watching the cars pass by,

Getting that ice cold soda, setting in a booth,

Diet Dr. Pepper running down my throat, soothing

Now a clouded and rainy memory, just dark and grey.

His daughter I use to be, I can’t help but ask “Why?”

Missing the unknown that is now known, scarring my mind,

Talking about nothing at all, sometimes asking him everything,

Feeling care, love, and comfort, I was a daddy’s girl with pride,

Now the idea just makes me sick as I cry.

I, now lying, under the covers of my blanket,

The thought of provided gifts he use to buy me,

Small drums from other states, games, coloring books as well,

Mimicking how he draws roses and houses,

As his daughter, he was so proud,

As a father of mine, I loved him with all my heart.

It was all a lie, never got that love, comfort or care,

It was all about the money, something I didn’t see,

But now that I know, it hurts, the pain of memories,

Finding out the truth, he wasn’t a father to me,

Ex-daughter, to an empty dark and cruel shell, someone who

Haunted by those memories, the melancholy lingers, to be his ex-daughter.