A silly cough.

He scratches on her vocal chords, an itchy throat,
tempting the mucus to come out her slender mouth,
water filling those green buckets for eyes,
it's a daily occurance.

She lifts her head to gasp for air,
and turns away from the noise in the house,
tight little fists only loosen when it's time to cough,
for the vomit she keeps to herself.

It stirs in her stomach, chunks of chocolate and Subway,
and her toes curls in to hold it all together,
but the worst kind of vomit,
whenever she hears that name.
Is the word vomit he causes,
when he scratches her vocal chords red raw.