Black

Ache— Let it sink Deep With quiet and unfathomable rage, every word shown Black ink, black intent, Yeah, she was done The black nail polish on her nails chipping Stupid, cheap crap… The color black burned through her soul, Giving her slight satisfaction in her furious state of mind Always angry Always sad, and hollow She wanted desperately to get back at the wretch Because of him, she wished she never existed Lying there cold, Stark-naked on the bathroom floor… Standing outside the chipped, wooden door He wanted more Waiting to feel her flesh upon his own The demon… The monster… You’ve heard the tale It’s nothing new Hearing him breath heavily, Listening, his ears pounding with his heart A beast awaiting his prey Cornering her, despairing her Nose pouring forth snot and blood He had hit her very hard, And there was surely more to come But she had to resist the monster. She just had to Glancing at the boarded window in agony and despair, No one would ever know and there was no one to tell He’s a good man… It’s her who’s the bad one God is mad at her…not him It’s always that way Her fists slammed on her desk After it all, he was coming back for her She kept telling herself he was going to forget He was going to leave her alone, But he soon would be back for more, Just like the old days He didn’t give a damn about the ache she endures every day of her miserable life In a frenzied fury, She tore up the paper with the short poem on it He would never feel the ache… It would never seep through his marrow Her phone rang loudly, startling her She let it ring three times and then begrudgingly answered it. “What?” She spat, clenching her teeth in irritation. “It’s Mr. Rickman. We are ready to see you in.” She gulped. The time was upon her. “Now?” “Yes, of course. Everything’s going to be alright” She hung up the phone. She put on her darkest of shirts She slipped on her black, studded sweater and her spiked collar Black boots Black gloves without the fingers Black skinny jeans She wanted EVERYTHING to be black today.