Drop back and learn to attack
As your face is getting dreary
And the fighters getting weary
So all the girls need to learn to say, "Stop."

They'd better stop refuting
And know they have no Rasputin
To blame their witchcraft on.

Oh they know when their dresses are sinful
And their atmosphere is questionable,
But they made too many uses of the unmentionables
To make a good decision now so
They'll just celebrate their downfalls in a white sterile room
With far less attractive options
Than what they had to drink that night.

She knew she probably didn't know him
And now she'll never get to show the child she carries
The stories her mother told
Of princes and stallions and chivalry
She was raised with but never quite retained.

She wondered about what her mother would say
But realized she probably wouldn't recognize her,
At the bottom of another liquor bottle
With another sure to follow,
Reliving the days she had spent
Bearing the weight of the looker
That stands in the clinic now
Clutching a pamphlet and crossing and uncrossing her legs,
As if it would hasten the endeavor.

She lays back in the chair,
Naïve and too trusting of free service,
She closes her eyes and there was her mother and father-
Or who she thought as her dad-
Looked more like one of her friends
Than someone to look up to
But she saw a father just the same.

They were yelling
But the sound was fading into the background
As her mother violently gestured to the door
The slam vibrating the hinges
And the silence louder than the argument.

The harsh lights shake her awake
As she stumbles in a trance out the door,
Physically lighter but unbearably heavier.

She waits at the bus stop
When her friends pull up,
The car blaring music,
With bottles on every rim,
But she gets in anyway.
They start speeding down the highway,
Disorientation setting in,
When out of nowhere the car starts tumbling,
And there's no opportunity
To say, "Stop," again.