Wednesday, August 7, 2013


Deep down she knows it is wrong
Like a bee drawn to honey
She is drawn
She dreads the sunrise
Her phone beeps
Good morning darling. Tonight?  - Thats the incoming message
Yes, usual place and time.  She replies

She dreads his presence
She wishes time would freeze
With every tick of the clock it spells her doom
His world is her prison
She loves him
She doesnt have the strength to leave
Her flesh is weak
Her spirit is bruised
His key is in the door
His boot in her face

She stares at the toilet
She tries to regurgitate
Puts two fingers down her throat and vomits
Like a ritual
She does it three times a day
Sitting on the floor
She cuts her wrists
Maybe the blood will be a savior
The weighing scale is her judge
With her last breath she is free of it all.

You are stupid
Just like your father
He walks by
Doesnt say a word
His books are his refuge
His ticket to a better life
Tears stream down his face
Her words hurt more than a knife
He walks into class
Sprays the kids in class with the bullets
Before he turns on himself
All the while thinking
Maybe now she will respect me and not compare me to my coward father.

© thelma migue, 2013

A cizoepoetry collection

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