Anger

For better or worst they say...
I look at the ring on my finger,
it burns until it blisters.
I suddenly hate the feel of it.
I don’t give it back.
Threw it in the back of my closet;
I may wear it again.
Tonight, he sleeps, phone under pillow.
I look at him and smile sadly...
His phone needs to charge,
but is afraid to leave it alone.
I know,
yes, I have the password.
I await on the moment to strike;
I am like a panther waiting in the shadows.
This time I am both the prey and victim.
It will be me that gets hurt again.
Yes again, I will be hurt.
This time its anger along with pain.
It is over this time.
I speak less.
This place has gotten silent.
The silence kills him.