The Domestic

It looks beautiful. My fist in slow motion,
Your bones in reaction, my love in action.
It was wonderful till earth came calling.
My knee came up then you were falling.
This is pitiful, our love is violent,
Till sores wed bruises; then I repent.

We were perfect; we are perfect and yet
still one big mess. Your love, turned towel
Soaked with tears, a broken frame that Felt my wrath, from another violent yet
Blissful lust for my fist. Our lovely home just a victim of another domestic.



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I am me. I am Me. I write when I want to be free.

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