By Jeri Thompson

He said: “I take advantage? What about the time you were out drinking until two in the morning? Or the time you and John were drinking ‘til three? You once told me you didn’t are for me anymore, remember that?”

Your words
hammered with precision
pin me to the wall.

“What about the times you came over to party with your friends, you were so cold to me in front of them, you made me feel like shit.”

My blood
from wounds of guilt
is wine for your feast.

“You should be happy I even wanted you back, after the way you have hurt me.”

My flesh
being stripped
piece by piece from remorse
is not enough for you, this time.

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