Come and sit, sweet child,
Your cheeks are rubbed raw,
your eyes are slits of sad.
Come feel the fingers of fair
as they drag across your scalp.
You can’t trip and fall into blame
When you skip right through the puddles you’re finding
You own the puddles
splashing your skinned knees
washing the dirty deceit from your wounds.
You are not used to me being here, I know
but I will never leave again.