I write about real life topics, things that perhaps we think about but don't often talk about. This is something truly hard hitting about Domestic Violence and is featured in my 2nd Book of Poetry "CINNAMON & SIN". Your feedback would be most appreciated.
“ESCAPE”
He’s staring at the blood on the floor Sitting in a chair he pulled closer to the door To stop her escape He chuckles silently, “She’ll pay for her mistake…” No worries of covering up a future crime scene No trying to hide evidence that isn’t yet there His love and lust for doling her punishment drives him Never trying to erase the image He replays constantly in his mind Just like a video rewind Of her life he misspent frivolously With every physical beat and lick With every verbal slice and dice He wore her down to the ground Until she thought she was nothing And so became and acted as nothing He fondly regaled, climbing on her in the middle of the night A slap in the face waking her from slumber The occasions were all the same Just too many to remember in detail Drunkenly… druggedly… or both… Always demanding “It’s my right…” “You better give it up tonight…” The unsaid “Or Else…” instantly resonating loudly With the head punches she received The torso blows that he pounded Into the body she looked after so proudly Every time… Until the tables turned with her escape…
Maybe… She didn’t want to be the she who endures this But to be the she whose lover desires her lips to touch with his So in love, she wanted to feel an endless wedded bliss But wait… that’s just a dream Of a life she saw in a magazine Of being a caring wife Whose husband adores her Kisses her hand Brings her chocolates and candy Draws flowers in the sand Pampers her lips with an ice cream kiss At the beach on a warm sunny day Who doesn’t brand Her soul with misery This is the reality Of the seeds he sowed That grew into being her old life She escaped… and so her new life starts now…
The white sheet covers her calm featured face The tray slides in silently with a click The mortician sighs sadly, “What another waste…” Shutting the door behind him, he hears the clocks tick In time to his steps he walks out to process Another battered angel, his second one this week The freezing cold air re-floods the empty room, Cocooning another soul-less body in a protective vacuum.
