Watery Grave

Hate runs black

staining pristine

marble tiles.

Inking a portrait of

confined rage.

Chaos is the colors

of blue and purple

bruised lips and

swollen eyes after she’s

had too much to drink.

Love has run cold like

her body in the swamp

for the gators.

Peace is knowing I’ll

never hear her

screeching voice again

telling me I’m not man


She pushed me into sweet

insanity, her disparaging words.

I needed her gone, silenced.

It’s amusing, a joke when

a woman abuses a man,

but who’s laughing now?



3 thoughts on “Watery Grave

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