Murdering my childhood (Video No.2)

He was the first to leave the womb  
shriveled in stainless-steel  
I wondered if we had ever spoken  
in that quiet place.  

I could feel him at night  
stealing light from my candle  
feeding on scraps of pleasure  
that might have sustained me.  
 
I hear the sound a mind makes  
when it takes too much  
and mother breaks, leaving  
her clothes beside the lake.  
 
I see him now, dragging  
across the cold tiled floor  
following me to nowhere  
I close the door and slide the bolt.  
 
My life, my future, finding sunlight  
on the other side of childhood  
an adult restored from slaughter.