Aftermath

My room is a mess
You can't see the floor
Under all of the clothes
And there's usually dishes
Stacked on my desk
But my dad occasionally takes them out
Guess it's his way of helping out
Guess it's his way of saying sorry
He's part of the trauma
Part of the problem

Maybe it's the aftermath
Of being raised in a broken home
Always alone
No one to call my own

Maybe it's the aftermath
Of being raised in a broken home
Always alone
No one to call my own

And I don't talk to my mother
Cause that would drive me crazy
She was always so abusive, narcissistic, and lazy
But she'll call me from time to time
Just to see if I'm okay
Of course I don't answer
And it's the reason I stay safe

Maybe it's the aftermath
Of being raised in a broken home
Always alone
No one to call my own

Maybe it's the aftermath
Of being raised in a broken home
Always alone
No one to call my own



Credits
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