WR2


It was a miserable existence,
that of a battered wife
It was a never ending cycle
of a hurt-filled violent life

She walked on eggshells,
avoided direct eye contact
Did nothing that would get him riled up
She always spoke in a timid voice,
deferred on every household decision
Never complained when the sex was too rough

Ofttimes it wasn't even her
that would get his pot boiling
Get him steamed and hopping mad
It could be the telly news,
the neighbor's cat
Or the photo of his mum and dad

It was a daily chore,
washing away the pain
that was mixed in with the bloodstains

It was a daily chore,
rinsing away the tears
that was mixed in with the whiskey and beers

And each night before turning out the light,
she has to take her dose of verbal abuse
Then tiredly arise with swollen, sullen eyes;
rehearse to neighbors another recycled excuse

And for a few hours she gets to enjoy
a quiet space that is blissfully sweet
Escape in daydreams before she face
the daily grind of wash, rinse, repeat

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