Cinderella Found The Wrong Fella

I was Cinderella
At a masquerade ball
Hoping against hope
That someday he’d love me again
That things would be as they used to be
When he swore
He’d adore me for life
And couldn’t wait
To make me his wife.

I danced and danced
At that masquerade ball
Not knowing that to him
I meant nothing at all.

Everyday
All I did
Was try to stall
The inevitable blows
To my shriveling ego.

It was a long time ago
I know.
But it all comes back to me
Every time
It’s the anniversary
Of something he did
To screw up my head
Or make me lie in bed
Like a mummy
So he could tell me
How funny it was
That I hid in the closet,

“I really wasn’t going to hit you.
I told you I wouldn’t do it anymore.
It was just a joke
You dope,” he’d say.
“So it’s not my fault
You like to stay
In the closet and pray
Half of every Saturday
And half of Sunday too.

“Whatever am I going to do
With a lousy mother like you?
How about I hang you from a tree
Which one would you prefer?
It doesn’t matter to me.
I just don’t want the neighbors to see
So I’ll have to do it at night.

“Why are your eyes so filled with fright?
I don’t mean what I say.
You just don’t know how to play.
That’s why you’re so boring.
Oh well,
I guess being with you
Is better than whoring,
Something I would never do.

“But there may come a day
When from my values I’ll have to stray
And find a high class pro
Who will do
What I tell her to
Without all the wincing and whining
That comes out of you.
Why don’t you just moo?
You’re nothing but a cow anyway.

His cold suspicious eyes
Would follow me into the kitchen
Where soon he’d berate
My every move
My face, my nose
My ears and my fears.

He’d greeted my tears
With laughter and jeers
Saying that in a few years
I’d be gone.

He’d see to that!
And better yet,
The kids would have a
New mom.

“Taller and prettier than you
With big breasts too
Not little runts like yours.

“You’re such a sad looking mouse
When I get in bed with you
I want to barf
Then make you lap it up
On all fours
And make you beg for more.

“Then I’ll shit on the floor
A nice big pile.
You’ll have to sniff it, lick it
Then stick it up
Your big old nose
And in between your ugly toes.

“Oh how I’ll smile
As I make you take
My sweet smelling pile
And smear it
All over your hair and your face
Until it falls down
All around
Your little titties.

“Wouldn’t that make a cute picture of you?
On it I’ll write
‘The woman nobody wanted to screw.’

“You’re not good enough to be a whore.
But I’ll keep you a while
Then I’ll throw you out the door
With a broom up your ass.

“Now wouldn’t that be a laugh?

Maybe I’ll have the neighbors come by
To see
How you ugly you are.

“Don’t worry, my sweet.
You won’t have the pleasure
Of listening to me much longer.

“I could always cut off your head
But I rather see you squirm instead.
Maybe I could pinch your clit
Until you have a fit.
Ha! Ha! Ha!
You little twit.
It’ll be fun
Watching you squirm
You slimy old worm.

“And when you die
I’ll heave a big sigh
And like Martin Luther King say,
‘Oh happy day, Oh happy day
I’m free at last
Free at last.’

“Then I’ll phone that big-breasted lass
Who is waiting for me.
She’ll want to see you dead.
Then we’ll go to bed.”

“Have fun, Toots.
Why aren’t you laughing?
You have to admit, it’s funny.
Come on, loosen up.
Don’t be so uptight.
It’s your rigidity
That’s the cause of our fights.

“What a funny scene.
You on all fours
Covered in shit
With a broom up your ass

“I’ll keep you a while
Then throw you out
Then I won’t have to see
Those breasts
Those scrawny breasts
That are so repulsive to me.”